Lycanthropes 3-Deception
by dharak
Summary: <html><head></head>in the aftermath of the battle in the the Shifting Sands, the Lycanthropes move on to the plains in the center of the land. After falling under the shadow of a malicious foe ruling a place almost like a ghost town, the crew finds themselves forced to play a madman's game. A old ally and some new ones are encountered-though the outcome is a shock none expected. OC centric.</html>
1. Darkened Skies

**i do not own any names or borrowed settings belonging to another. **

**Author note- I know this is a lot of words, but I hope you'll take the time to read them, as some things will be a lot easier to understand if you do.**

Definitions-

Highlands- a large, remarkably fertile area in every Amihawkian nation, reserved for hunting and gathering. Amihawkian culture has never embraced farms or grocery stores, as the outlook is that hunting is far more satisfying and healthy. Keeping to that tradition, it is against the law to build any kinds of settlements or to modify a country's designated Highlands in any way. (Avalon is a rarity in that it's the only nation with four separate Highlands regions due to varied geography-Plains, Forest, Wetland, and Mountain Highlands. The story takes place on the Plains Highlands.)

the Seven Hells-the seven layers of the Amihawkian spirit world that are designated eternal punishment for those of evil. The lower the level, the more severe the punishments.

_races appearing in story-_

_varon-part of the terradon race, lizard humanoids with colorful scales, hair, and pointed ears._

_Felisar-cat humanoids with the facial features of house cats, tails, and fur in thousands of patterns and colors._

_Kerion-another feline humanoid race, but resembling large felines like lions and tigers more, with broader muzzles, thicker tails, and larger ears._

_verwolf-wolfish humanoids with bowed legs and stumpy tails._

_komodo-reptilian swamp creature about the size of a large dog._

_Hawktor- humanoid bird people with feathered heads and clawed talonlike hands. Wingless despite what they resemble._

_Merbian-lanky humanoids, with narrow faces, catish noses and pointed ears. They have three toed feet and a large span of earthy colors from brown to green._

_Nationalities appearing in story-_

**In this story there will be a more varied pool of people who come from other countries. In that regard, I felt I should put down some identifying traits-**

_Deltoran__-the Deltoran accent sounds like a light English one, a sharp contrast to their rather battle focused and unruly culture. Many aspects of it are tribal, a lot like Native and South Americans from ancient times._

Morian- _Morius is the resident Arctic continent and nation of Amihawk. Morians have an accent roughly akin to German and Russian, largely a blend between the two. Like many Amihawkian cultures they are once again tribal in culture even in modern times, although they can be more compared to the Inuit of old._

Wildemoor- _the country of Wildemoor, one of the smaller countries on Amihawk, largely resembles the Vikings in culture and customs. As such, they talk with a speech pattern and sound close to the old Norse dialects._

Skyberian- _Skyberia's culture can be largely compared to America's in attitude and speech, although their culture is different in a few key ways._

Atmosian-_once again, inhabitants of Atmos largely speak similar to Americans. Their culture is often carefree and often fond of daredevil airborne stunts, with an emphasis on utilizing the powers of crystals._

_Afrisia__-people of this continent sound African when speaking, with a culture largely similar to Africa. They are known for powerful druid magic._

_All the Lycanthropes are from Avalon, minus Lehvahk, who is Arurian._

DECEPTION

CHAPTER 1

**DARKENED SKIES**

"I say that we have soup."

"Who wants soup? That does not hold you overnight."

"Oh?" Levak waved the spoon under Somra's nose. She snarled, wrinkling said appendage. "I am the cook here, remember? And who needs a rock in their stomach while sleeping?"

"A rock?" Somra stared at the sniper, long and hard. "Good food doesn't feel like a rock. It feels wonderfully satisfying." Somra's expression drifted into a dreamy state, detached to the point where her eyes roved the empty space by Levak's head.

"Right..." Levak let the word linger. He could only imagine the many foods drifting through the weapon specialist's head, and reveled in riling her up-though he was risking his proverbial life in doing so. The brown verwolf waved the spoon again before tossing it into a empty pot. "Anyhow, this being a stalemate and all, I think a community vote is in order."

"Or I can force you into a headlock, and you'd _need_ to do it." Somra's red eyes glinted fiercely from beneath her silver bangs. She tossed the rest of her hair over her shoulder and braced both palms on the table, leaning forward. Levak's eyes darted from side to side. Knowing she was trying to trap him, he began to slowly inch sideways.

The kitchen door sliding open was what stopped Somra's menacing advance and Lehvahk's tentative attempt to escape. A confused looking blue green varon stood there.

"What's going on here? Lehvahk, why haven't you started cooking?"

Levak paused, giving Fearon the most innocent, blue eyed look he could. "I swear, I would have started a while ago, if Somra hadn't started demanding that I cook what she wants-"

"All I said was no soup!" the midnight blue varon interjected with venom. "It's not filling enough. Come on, back me up."

Fearon's yellow and orange eyes narrowed, flitting from the silver haired weapons specialist to the brown furred sniper. Levak could tell he was trying to figure out who was to blame and what to do.

A labored sigh seemed to indicate he had given up on the first goal. The leader ran his hand through his ragged mop of black hair. "Okay, look. We need something to happen here, or nothing will get done. If you can't agree, we'll all vote. Of course, the whole scene could be avoided if you left Levak be..."

Somra snarled incoherently. "We'll all starve if you leave it up to him."

"No need to call us. I heard you already, and I brought Takar. Can't have a community vote without all of us, after all."

Brendon's level voice came from behind Fearon. He sidestepped further into the kitchen, twenty feet wide and ten feet high like most of the Strikeflier's rooms. It was a small spaceship compared to most of Amihawk's vessels.

Levak sighed, melancholy. No one ever liked to leave him to work his artistry with food. They always liked to hinder him.

Just once, just one time, Lehvahk wished they would leave it up to his imagination. He smiled ruefully as Fearon cleared his throat and raised his hands.

"Alright, I'm initiating the vote. Everyone say what they want."

"I don't need food." The ill-tempered grumble came from Takar. The kerion's brown gold fur was ruffled, possibly from a disturbed sleep. The scowl on his lionlike face was thunderous, and he attempted to leave almost instantly after speaking.

Brendon grabbed his arm when he tried. The half dragon verwolf was shorter and far more bony than the pilot-Takar had always slightly intimidated Levak with his six foot height-but the touch was still enough to bring Takar to a stop, if only for him to protest vehemently. "Don't stop me. I'm not hungry, I don't care about this...vote."

Takar glared down at Brendon past his lengthy hair. It was a dark brown that was nearly black, lanky, and battered, serving to shade the pilot's eyes effectively. It made for some highly scary expressions, and Levak instinctively took a slight step back.

The gray pelted verwolf met the pilot's gaze steadily. Brendon didn't have any of his blonde brown hair in his eyes as it was always cropped spiky and short. However, the piercing green glare of rebuke and concern, which Brendon was known for delivering, needed no enforcing.

"It isn't healthy not to eat, and you don't do so enough. As our medic, you should know that."

Takar fidgeted slightly. He mumbled something and began to move once more, only to be stopped again by Fearon.

"Hold on, he's right. You've got to eat with us at least a few nights of the week. That way we know you're eating enough to survive, at least."

"You aren't someone I need to listen to." Takar sounded acutely scornful. The glare in his red eyes was nearly as spiteful.

Levak raised a hand, still holding a pot in the other. How long had that been there? He frowned. He must have lost track.

Shrugging, the sniper quipped out what was on his mind. "You can at least tell us what your favorite food is. Maybe the rest of us like it too, or will at least be okay with it. Then will you be happy?"

The kerion stared at him. He averted his gaze to the sleeves of his trench coat after a few moments, seeming to bite his lip. Levak let a bright grin slip onto his features when Takar let out a grudging sigh of agreement.

"I don't think we have it, but I've always liked venison. I didn't get to eat it much, so...it was kinda like a treat."

Levak frowned, the answer making no real sense to him. "Really? Venison's from deer. We have that. We've been flying over the Highlands for a while, and Fearon went hunting yesterday."

The pilot twitched a ring pierced ear. "My...family never got to the Highlands much. And they didn't feed me well."

The brown verwolf thought of pursuing further, but Takar's withering gaze stopped him. He nodded meekly, accepting the mysterious fragment. "Well, then, everyone likes venison?"

Fearon licked his lips. "It is freshly caught, basically. Sounds good..." he started to stare off into a space, a wistful look in his eyes.

Beaming ear to ear, Levak opened the fridge and started to drag out several slabs of meat, cut courtesy of Somra upon Fearon's return from hunting. "Sure thing."

"Oh, this'll be good," Somra whooped. "See? No soup. This is far better."

"You can be far more clever than you look, Somra, our friend," Brendon murmured. "Even without it being intentional, you got a non-soup meal."

"Yep. Sorry for using you, Takar." Somra went to elbow the pilot teasingly, only to hiss in indignation. Levak looked up from where he was deciding how much meat to cook, spotting the empty space where Takar had been.

"He slipped away." Fearon sounded both resigned and slightly disappointed, possibly even a little angry-it was hard for Levak to tell. "I was hoping he'd stay a little longer."

Brendon's thoughtful gaze was pinned on the door as well. "Sometimes his tendencies worry me."

"Until he lets us help, there ain't much we can do." Shrugging, Somra turned to Fearon. "Want to play cards on the bridge?"

Fearon nodded, a soft smile lighting his features. "Sure. Maybe we can get a conversation going with Takar, too."

Somra dashed out. "You seem more eager to talk with me!" she called.

The leader ran after her. "Ah..maybe?"

Levak chuckled at that. Fearon couldn't have sounded more awkward. And he only smiled like that when Somra proposed an activity only between the two of them.

"I'm serious," he heard Brendon mutter. A chair scraped as he sat down at the small table bolted to the floor of the room. "I worry about him. So does Fearon, but we can't seem to break through to him..."

Having selected the cuts he needed, Levak put them on an oven pan. He frowned, thinking over what his friend had just muttered to himself. Deciding they might as well talk, he decided to start the conversation up. "What, is it really so worrying? So Takar's a night owl and antisocial. That happens to plenty of people, right?"

Yet despite his optimistic words, Levak could well remember the night when he had heard the pilot curse and scream at seemingly nothing but what was happening inside his head. He had seen Takar in one of his most vulnerable states, if briefly. He had tried to put it out of mind-with no success. Talking with him afterward hadn't revealed much to Levak, only that his bad tempered companion had problems he didn't want to share. Deep down, he knew Takar's issues with people were more complicated than simply being antisocial. But given that Levak didn't like dark topics, he'd been trying to cheer things up a bit.

If Brendon's still morose face was anything to go by, it hadn't worked. He turned his attention to the food. Eyes and hands focused on prepping the meat, Levak felt rather than saw Brendon's exasperated look.

"You can't honestly believe that. Ever since we entered and left the Shifting Sands, you've made it apparent that you are a lot more intelligent and capable than you seem."

Levak winced. Point taken, if given in rather harsh wording. He yanked the oven door open, then looked over his shoulder at Brendon. "Okay...yeah. I guess there are reasons to be concerned. Takar needs help, but let me guess...he won't let anyone give it?"

"Yes. That can't be good for him." A wry smile lit Brendon's face. "But then, I guess most of us are no better."

Sliding the venison strips into the oven and closing it, Levak knew the mage was right. It didn't take long in the team's company to know they were all hiding things. Of course, the severity of those secrets varied. "Heh, who knows. I bet eventually we'll all understand each other. Hey, would ya like to help me cook this?"

Brendon nodded. "How?"

"Well..." Levak smiled sheepishly. "I actually just want company."

The dusty gray mage smiled back. "Sure. You really don't like silence, huh?"

Levak snorted. "Seven Hells no, it's stifling. Makes it seem like there's no life in the world." He brightened even more. "Speaking of which, we should have music!"

Bounding over to the old radio bolted to the counter, he flipped it on. Compared to the rest of spaceship, most of it modified to current times, the thing was ancient-but most of the group had appreciation for the old things. Low bass classic rock streamed out. Levak leaned against the counter, one eye on the timer, snapping his fingers to the rhythm. He spotted Brendon eying him with amusement.

"I see I am cheering you up."

"You're definitely the sun on this ship."

"Yeah, and Takar's the clouds."

"Somra's the storm," Brendon muttered.

"And Fearon, um..." Levak thought for a moment. "He's blue skies, I guess?"

Brendon laughed. "Comparing our friends to weather...there must be some kind of online horoscope for that."

"Hehe, maybe."

Brendon raised an eyebrow. Abruptly he changed topic. "I always forget that you're Atmosian. You don't really talk like one."

Levak shrugged. "I ran away a while ago, remember? Generally didn't like Blizzaris, anyway." The brown verwolf allowed a sad smile to appear on his face, a rare expression for him. He didn't want to get into the exact circumstances under which he had left his home nation. He'd wanted to escape his parents and their forced plans for his future, only to be dunked into a far darker life. "I like daredevil, but they were a bit too overboard. And I didn't have as much control over my future as I wanted. I may have done some things, though…I'd prefer not to say."

"Yeah. I guess it's best to be more general." Brendon looked awkward. "Sorry for reminding you."

"Hey, it's fine. You apologized, right?" Levak crossed his arms, tapping a finger to the song on the radio. "But why the sudden interest in Atmos's culture? Are you part Atmosian? If so, I can see why you'd want to learn." Levak spun in place, striking a pose. "And I know tons of stuff-just ask me."

The dragon verwolf teen chuckled lowly, hugging his bony frame. "Well, no, I don't have any descendants from Atmos. But we are planning to travel the world. Sure, I've read about all of it, including Atmos, but it's always good to hear about it from someone with first hand knowledge."

Brightly grinning, the sniper began to oblige. "Sure. I know all the legends best..."

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Somra reached the bridge a good few seconds before Fearon came flying in after her. She turned, ready to face him, to see the blue green varon was already attempting to pounce on her.

Sidestepping, Somra aimed a loose blow at her friend. He grinned and blocked with one arm, falling into the familiar pattern of hand to hand sparring they had often adopted. The pair ended up circling in the narrow space between the holo-screen table and the opposite wall. Panting and thumping filled the small space.

Fearon managed to end it by hooking her leg out from under her. Somra fell backward, into one of the blocky flight chairs. The upper corner dug into one shoulder. She ignored the pain, attempting to move, only for Fearon to land beside her, somehow fitting onto the flight chair as well. He roped an arm around her neck, pulling her close to his chest. Had she been an enemy, he would have had her in a perfect choke-hold that would threaten her life. The seat rocked back from the impact.

Scout bolted away at the motion, startled awake. The scarlet komodo circled in a corner and ducked his nose under his tail, the lizard creature going back to sleep.

The other teen's heart was thudding powerfully. Somra could feel the rapid beat against the flat of her back. The two sat there panting, Fearon's grip loose, Somra allowing herself to slump against him. The thrill of battle was still fresh and tantalizing. A glance at the clock confirmed they had been at it for an hour or two, and a rest was demanded.

Cards sounded good as an activity now. Somra felt reluctant to move, though-Fearon's arm had slid down, and the two had shifted so they were snugly pressed side by side on the narrow space. The black haired leader now had his arm draped around Somra's slender shoulders.

Not that he was bulky. Fearon was remarkably wiry for a varon-the standard build was thicker-but it had always impressed the weaponsmaster that he was so fast and strong despite his leanness. Then there was just that she felt oddly safe and at peace around him, something few others could replicate.

"So how about those cards?" Fearon sounded both wanting and reluctant. His orange and yellow eyes were still fixed out the window, on the steadily darkening sky.

Somra nodded slowly. "Sure. Where are they again?"

"In the hatch on the bridge table. Where else would the damn things be?"

The grumble had come from the still figure of Takar. He had been on the second windowed level below the bridge during the sparing match, having left the Strikeflier on autopilot when it began. It was the level were the bedrooms were, and Somra suspected he had retreated there for to be alone. Somra had thought she'd heard him mutter something along the lines of, 'too bloody noisy,' as he did.

It had been tempting to try and drag the antisocial grump into the match too. Somra had nearly gone with that impulsive decision, but Takar had been gone into the Strikeflier's lower decks before she could. Mood soured by the pilot's grumpy remark, she glared at the back of his shaggy haired head. "You know, you could've set that in a less insulting way. Or not said anything."

Takar's ring pierced ear twitched. Both ears began to lay flat.

"And what would that have done? All I was doing was presenting my _opinion_."

"This is pointless," Fearon interjected, shaking his head. "Let's agree to disagree."

Takar snorted, stiffly straightening in the pilot seat. He grasped the flight controls, the Strikeflier lurching slightly as he freed it from autopilot. "Fine."

"You could be a bit happier. Levak's cooking something you like," Fearon remarked, slightly more sharply than he had intended.

Stony silence was the pilot's only response, along with a slight reflection of a scowl in the window. Before the bridge atmosphere became even colder, Levak barged in. The sniper carried in with him the strong smell of spices.

Somra pretended to gag. "What did you do, roll in your cooking materials?"

"Heh, at least I don't smell like smoke." Levak scratched his head sheepishly. "It took a lot of practice for me to make something that's pretty good."

She nodded vigorously. It could well be remembered that when the Strikeflier first came to be populated by a team instead of just one grumpy kerion who barely ate, someone needed to handle food. As it was, Levak had been the winner-not through vote, but since he had volunteered. No one, Somra included, had minded. None of them were cooks-and since Levak had shown interest, they'd been more than happy to let him do it.

At first the decision seemed like one to be regretted. Levak had burned several things to crisps at the start, sporadically making anything edible.

"Thank gods you actually tried to get better at it," Somra let out a huffing laugh. "We'd all have starved otherwise."

Levak nodded ecstatically, his auburn hair flopping into his face. "Yeah. But I actually came in here to suggest something. Why don't we spend the night at a bar after food?"

Fearon shifted next to her. He looked largely reluctant, although at first Somra wasn't sure why.

Then she remembered. Often it was easy to forget how young some of them were. Out of them all, Takar was twenty one, and the only one old enough to drink, besides Fearon, whose nineteen years were just enough. Somra herself was still eighteen, with half a year to go until her next birthday, Brendon was her age, and Lehvahk was the youngest-seventeen. Of course, she tended to drink anyway...just not in public, or in largely lawless places like Saborga, one of Avalon's outermost islands and home of outlaws. It was her guilty pleasure.

Saborga. It was where she, Takar and Fearon had first met, then set them on course to form this Sky Knight team.

_Now we're one happy group of freelance military recruits._

"I...don't know that I like that idea."

"We could act on it, but then get in trouble with the law for underage drinking," Takar grumbled caustically. "Only me and Fearon can legally drink or even be in a bar out of everyone on this ship."

"We could try faking." Levak cheekily grinned. "I can be very convincing."

"I'll believe that when I see it," Takar retorted harshly.

Standing, Fearon turned fully to look at the sniper, crossing his arms. The young leader's voice was hard as he replied. "They'll ask for identification. There's no point in it when that makes it impossible to lie." Then he paused. Levak's hopeful eyes remained fixed on him.

"Maybe we could go. As long as you abstain from alcohol."

"Tell Somra that. She's the alcoholic."

Somra growled, showing her teeth. "I don't drink that much."

"Sure you don't. Four bottles in one night isn't a problem."

"Not as long as it isn't every night!"

"Haha, you admit it."

The weapons specialist lunged at him. "Insufferable little weasel! Get back here, coward!"

Levak jumped and made to bolt for the door. Somra's hand came within a hair's breath of his shirt before he had exited the bridge. Dimly she heard a beeping going off from the kitchen.

"Fearon, I'll take that deal!" Levak's voice echoed down the hall. "I'm just going to get the venison out!"

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Fearon grinned, fully satisfied. Levak was no five star cook, but he had done a fairly good job nonetheless. The team was now lounging around the bridge, lazily watching clouds go by in a rare moment of calm.

"So, what's around here?" Levak was slumped upside down in one of the flight seats, kicking the air with his feet and poking with one finger at a active holoscreen. "I'm ready to start partying."

Glancing at the clock, Fearon noted the nine p.m. flashing there in glowing white digits. He shrugged, passing the question onto Brendon with a gesture.

The dusty gray halfling's mouth gaped in a yawn, his white teeth showing against the pink. Lazily he stretched and reached for the maps. Then he paused, swiveling his chair and going for the spaceship's built in computer. The blue screen materialized before him as Brendon began to tap on the keyboard that had appeared below it.

"Why go for that?"

Brendon, busily typing, replied swiftly. "I'd rather do this quick. Might as well let web search find out for me."

Nodding, Fearon allowed himself to relax. Soon enough a comfortable lethargy had overtaken him. He tiredly scrubbed the back of one hand over his blind left eye.

Oddly, in the space of a few minutes the dark, starry sky had been swallowed up by dark, thick clouds. As the Strikeflier passed through them, they seemed to get thicker, as though grasping at the passing ship with wispy fingers.

Fearon fidgeted. The clouds unsettled him, and he wasn't at all sure why.

Brendon sighed. "We may need to put this endeavor on hold, guys. There's nothing around until we reach Broome."

"Let me guess," Fearon muttered. "We have no chance of reaching it tonight."

The mage nodded. "The Highlands is designated hunting ground for everyone in the country, all four of them. There aren't really any establishments on it. No roads, no cities, no towns..."

"Since it's not allowed."

"Yeah. Most people bring ships or just camp along with a companion. We're still a day's worth of travel from the Highland's easternmost border. I guess it was a stretch to expect finding anything within a few hours."

"Hey, at least we tried," Somra waved a relaxed hand in the air.

"Why does Deltora have four, and everywhere else only have one?" Lehvahk wondered aloud. Fearon guessed he hadn't known he was talking aloud, judging from the sniper's slight start when Brendon replied.

"Most of the other nations have only one environment, so they just rope off a really huge piece of optimal land to use." Brendon shrugged. "It's just how they do things."

"So...no party night?"

"I guess n-"

"Wait!" Fearon directed his sharp gaze back at the sniper, whom had darted over to the window. He was excitedly peering out, blue eyes suddenly alight again. "There's lights down there. Enough to be a town." Whirling, he shot a smug look at Brendon. "Looks like you were wrong, smarty pants."

Brendon's eyes were wide and dazed. Fearon frowned, nearly as troubled.

"No, there should not be any kind of buildings down there. It's illegal. So why would…" Shaking his head, Brendon began to pull out his huge collection of paper maps.

"He's right." Fearon was barely aware he was growling. "Nothing should be there. Something's off." Instinctively he tensed, slowly standing. The feeling of unease was back, stronger than before.

Somra, eyes narrowed in confusion, stood and made her way over to Lehvahk. She peered out the bridge window too, and Fearon saw her eyes go wide.

"The idiot's right." Somra sounded plain stunned. "There are buildings down there." She squinted at them again. "And they look really..."

By now Fearon had made his way over there too. "Close?" he offered, for lack of a better word. His own brain had effectively slowed down at the sight of what was below them.

"That makes no sense." Fearon didn't hide his bluntness. "This is the part of the Highlands based on the plains. How far from the ground are we?"

Brendon paused. He gained the pensive look that made Fearon know for sure he was thinking. "High enough to clear a city skyline. There shouldn't be any kind of elevation out here."

Narrowing his eyes, Fearon glared down at the buildings.

The scene below them was littered with several structures, none looking like anything Fearon had seen before. They were made of dark wood, almost comical in appearance with tapering, triangle roofs that curved in the middle. All were made of a dark, almost violet wood and rutted, brown metal that looked pitch black in the dark. Lanterns hung above each door, whether the buildings were large or small. None of them seemed to cast very much light, simply little pools of orange against a deeper black tapestry.

The light glinted eerily of the curves and lines of the buildings, like they were coated in oil. The oppressive clouds were at ground level, too, masking everything in a bleary fog. Objects further than a mile seemed to vanish-Fearon could only dimly make out the fuzzy shapes of more structures that could have been anything.

"Hey, bastards." Takar jabbed a finger at the communications interface on the Strikeflier's dashboard. The screen lit up with lights and colors, then collectively flashed a negative red. The meters and indicators for fuel and navigation seemed to fluctuate in turn, the holo-screens flickering in a disturbing way. Fearon glanced at them as they settled down once more, now flashing a plethora of colors.

It was as though both the technology and arcane side of the Strikeflier was starting have trouble. A disturbing thought that the leader didn't want to believe.

"What is it?" Fearon eyes didn't leave the scene below. This whole thing unsettled him on a deep and sublime level. There was no way the Highland's regular monitoring could have allowed a settlement…

"We have an incoming call. And this'll make you even happier-the line they are calling from is the only one we can assess." Takar poked the communications screen with an irritated finger. In green, a name flashed. "The other channels are all gone, from local to worldwide. No off-planet lines either."

Casting another wary look out the window, Fearon moved to look. "Shak'ora Delmu?"

Levak snorted in laughter. "Who names a city that?"

Brendon's finger shot up. "Skyberians. Fracasta names things in like that, with a comma indicating a pause between the name's two parts. Afrisia does the same, even though they don't have the same ties as Skyberia, given the land was geologically separated from Fracasta. The difference between them and the Skyberians is that they add a second, whole word after the first part of the name. The significance comes from when Skyberia was a colony of Morius-"

"Ookay, you should stop. My brain's getting overloaded," Levak stated in a matter of fact tone.

Brendon sighed. Fearon shrugged sympathetically. "We know you like to show your knowledge, but we don't have time."

Nodding, Brendon frowned again. "The maps don't show any city or town named Shak'ora Delmu, though." He gestured at the computer. "It's not even showing up on the planetary net. Nothing down there really resembles Skyberian architecture, either. It's all wrong -Skyberians like white, blue, graceful arches, towers. Airy things."

Somra tilted her head. "Does that resemble any nation's building style? It doesn't look that way to me."

"Nor to me," Brendon said slowly. He raked a disturbed hand through his blonde brown hair. "Believe me, I studied these things. You're right."

"To me," Levak muttered, "It looks like some kind of ghost town from a children's horror movie."

"That," Somra said with a shiver, "Is pretty accurate. This place seriously isn't on the maps? Or the planetary database?"

"Legally, and according to the eyes of scouts and higher surveillance from satellite, it shouldn't even be before us," Brendon responded. His hand relocated to his chin. "It's a mystery, and a disturbing one at that."

A resounding bang sounded. Takar swore from over by the flight controls. "Gods damn! I checked up on every bleeding thing this morning. Nothing should be godsdamned broken. It was all working fine!"

"Maybe you missed something? I mean, this thing is a two hundred year old crate." Fearon cringed as Levak blurted out what he was thinking senselessly, as was his habit. "Maybe we should retire the Strikeflier to a museum." Levak laughed at the end of his sentence.

Takar slowly stood and looked menacingly over his shoulder, red eyes gleaming with barely restrained fury. "Keep laughing and I'll tear your tongue out, feed it to vultures, and hang your carcass of the side of the fucking pontoon."

Lehvahk gulped. He raised his hands in surrender at the veiled threat. "Relax, huh? It was just a suggestion."

Takar's murderous look died down. Grumbling, he turned back to the flight controls and the communication screen. "So, what's the call here? Should we answer?"

Fearon gnawed his lip. "Well..." Uncertainly he glanced out the window. The ominous clouds and sense of isolation made his decision fairly easy, even though he still wasn't sure it was right. He had the uneasy feeling that if they tried to fly away, even directly upward into the orbit of space, the Strikeflier would just keep going in circles. "Okay, sure. Our choices are remarkably limited anyway."

Jaw twisting into a wry and cynical grimace, Takar obliged with a leaden flick of his finger. The fact that he didn't even try to argue or make a remark only emphasized to Fearon that his feelings were shared across the board.

The holo-screen flickered as the Strikeflier's communications opened the line, only a brief moment of frazzle coming through before a voice broke in. The voice was female, heavy with a foreign accent that Fearon at first struggled to categorize. He managed after a few words-the accent was distinctly from the northern country of Wildemoor.

"Falcon Squad ship Strikeflier, model Az-6 Harbringer, we request thy to land immediately."

Fearon paused, thinking on how to respond. The Falcon Squad title didn't confuse him-often that was the term used for Sky Knights outside of Atmos. Rather, it was the rest of the sentence that was worrying.

Somra hissed lowly. "She sounds really lifeless. I don't like it."

_She's right,_ Fearon realized with a jolt. The caller sounded flat and completely emotionless, almost, if he had to draw a comparison, robotic.

Fearon leaned closer to the holo-screen, choosing his next words carefully. "Why? Wouldn't it work just as well for us to ask you for directions out of this area?"

A short silence was all he got. Then the speaker began again, still as flat toned and dismal as before. "You must land. We demand it. Or we will make you."

"Make us?" Takar sounded remarkably spiteful. "As if, _bastirede_. Legally, this place doesn't even exist. You don't own this bleeding land, got it?"

"That might've been a bit brash," Brendon cautioned. "We don't know what they have against us."

A low rumble proved his point, sending a noticeable vibration even through the floor of the ship. The drone was deep and mechanical, ruling out anything alive, and Fearon felt as though a rush of energy had just suffused the air. Glinting off starboard drew the eyes of everyone aboard.

"What are those?" Somra gasped breathlessly.

A faint outline, vaguely akin to a tower, could be glimpsed through the drifting clouds. Even as they watched it unfurled, growing taller and seeming to curve forward like the neck of a rearing snake. The gleam of metal and a single point of violet light, steadily becoming stronger.

"That's a flare turret," Takar muttered. "No idea why it's here...those are only mounted on Skyberian Air Fortresses. Or on the walls of holds on the seaboards."

"Wouldn't chance to be any of those around, huh?"

"The Skyberian military doesn't just let those drift around, bonehead. The only actual conclusion is that these bastards somehow built their own," Takar gestured impatiently below them, "by having military deserters help them. But the end point is that those things have plenty of power to blast us out of the sky."

"Oh..." the brown verwolf dejectedly looked at his feet.

Fearon set his mouth in a grim line and looked at each of his teammates in turn. "What do you guys think?"

"That there could be way to many of those turrets out there to flee," Somra said flatly, and grumpily. It couldn't be more obvious she hated what logic was dictating her to say. Every line of her seemed ready for action, a tangible fight to solve their problems. "And fast as the Strikeflier is, the firing speed of those turrets are a lot faster. I've read about them a lot." Somra's eyes became slightly unfocused. "Beautiful weapons, you know..."

"So the collective verdict is to give in?" Levak sighed disparagingly. "Some of ya might doubt it, but I really have outgrown just giving up."

Fearon motioned to Takar. The pilot's unreadable gaze flicked from the leader to the radio controls, then back to him.

"You sure about this?"

"Do you see any other way out?"

The pilot scowled. "No."

"Then start descending." Fearon turned his eyes back landward. "We'll just have to land and wing it."

**third series installment of **_**Lycanthropes**_** here. Things about the planet itself are expanding now, and it feels pretty good to reveal bits of the world I have made. Amihawk's been the labor of many years.**

**in light of the changes to the Strikeflier, in many ways this has moved away from being a fancitcion. all i need to do to make this a original work is change some names and alter some histories. i can and am doing this in a seperate file on my laptop. the core plot, charecters, and general world won't change drastically as a result. the changes to the Strikeflier, making it a spaceship instead, are basically a way of easing into it. for now, assume Atmos is behind in technology. **

**Once again, this second part of the series took me a fair amount of time to write and then edit. Reviews and feedback are something I really want, both to improve and to feel better about my writing capabilities.**


	2. Shak'ora Delmu

**Dislcaimer-I don't own Deltora Quest, Storm Hawks, Pokemon, Bionicle, or any other copyrighted things.**

**Author note- I know this is a lot of words, but I hope you'll take the time to read them, as some things will be a lot easier to understand if you do.**

_Added note-since Amihawk has been a planet formed from both my own imaginings and three of my favorite books/shows, pokemon will be appearing. (On this world, they are considered magical creatures by right.)_

Definitions-

Scion- mortal children of Ancients, always some form of beast like those whose essence they were created from.

_Garvast_- greetings in the Afrisian native language.

Falcon Squads-freelance groups of military recruits, generally left to do what they want and rely on their personal experiences, rather than undergoing years of military training. Inspired by Atmos's Sky Knights, Falcon Squads are markedly more attached to their own culture's ideals (example, a Deltoran squad is far more willing to kill and take extreme action than a typical Sky Knight squadron). On occasion, these squads are called to do tasks that trained militants may be deemed to unimaginative for them, or incapable of doing.

DECEPTION

CHAPTER 2

**SHAK'ORA DELMU**

The unanimous vote didn't really make any of the Strikeflier's crew happy-the entire decision was based purely on necessity. As was all too plain, they were outgunned and outnumbered, with the mystery clouds hemming them in from either side. Surrender had never been the favorite option for any of them-despite differences, that was the one thing the group could agree on.

As Somra and Takar had both easily pointed out, there was no way to flee with the ominous clouds, the sudden failure of the Strikeflier's navigation systems, and the threat of bieng bombed by unseen weapons.

By extension, that had led to surrender, a despicable option to any Amihawkian. Especially for those of Deltoran heritage, it was a hard blow to take, but there was little choice until it was known what they were dealing with. Now, Fearon in the lead, they were walking down the Strikeflier's rickety entry and exit ramp.

Fearon paused, trying to read the laden atmosphere. It smelled damp and moldy, and a strong smell of rust pervaded. From where, he had no idea, but the smell was thick and seemed to be rising from the ground itself.

And if he really thought about it, that made no sense. The oily looking wooden houses were certainly not made entirely of metal.

The disturbing smell combined sickeningly with the hint of wet earth. Overlaying it all was a definitive sense of threat and unease. The air felt like sludge, thick and still without a breath of wind-despite the moving clouds.

_Nothing feels right here. What the hell is this place?_

Somra nudged him. "Welcoming committee ahead," she spat quietly.

Fearon didn't feel much better upon sighting the 'welcoming committee.' The group of three stood rigidly on the wet turf, clearly waiting for the unwilling guests to advance. Deciding to get the meeting over with, Fearon strode forward decisively. He sneezed, trying to expel the rusty tang from his nose. It had no true effect beyond a second of vague relief.

_This will kill me before the day is done._

A snort and a grumble from behind him echoed his grim caught up with him fairly easily, a testament to his longer legs. "Bloody place."

"Nose doesn't like it?"

"Hell no. Sooner we leave here, the better."

The blue green varon, silently agreeing, nonetheless had to draw parameters to restrict his crewmate's actions. The pilot's temper could easily ruin any chance of making a graceful and quiet exit. "Yeah, but that isn't happening until we negotiate a way out."

"And if we can't?"

Fearon didn't break stride. "We slip away close to the ground. Maybe use this mist to out advantage. You and the Strikeflier can handle that?"

Takar's teeth flashed in a feral snarl. "Certainly."

Nodding, Fearon turned his attention to the waiting party ahead of them. Thankfully the Lycanthropes had only just entered their range of hearing, since as far as he could tell they had shown no visible reaction.

Empowered by annoyance and the lingering sense of threat, Fearon wasted no time striding up to the first of the trio-a narrow faced brown felisar, with brown fur streaked white and her hair tied in leather bonds.

"Alright then, why in the Seven Hells did you require us to land?" Fearon knew he sounded falsely polite and had let his annoyance show. Inwardly he winced, hoping he hadn't accidentally marred their chances by letting his indignation into the open.

_Maybe it's for the best. Blasted bastards need to be told off to their faces._

The response wasn't long in coming. Drably the felisar replied, feline face blank, and Fearon instantly recognized her as the Wildemoor contact from the radio call. "You had little choice. In fact, none. Ye still do not."

The tone was as flat as it had been on the ship. Fearon had to restrain a shiver when he looked into the eyes of the stranger and saw only flat gray blue depths, glassy enough to see his own orange-yellow eyes reflected in them. The lack of emotion had been disturbing even without a face, but now the factor had increased by many levels.

"The fact is, we need the help of strangers right now." The bulky gray felisar beside the first speaker was wreathed in traditional Morian furs, the accent prominent. Once again, a disturbing lack of emotion was conveyed. "Help us with our problem, and we will allow you to leave. Should you fail, you never leave."

"We will take you to the town hall. You will follow." The third speaker, a pale blue merbian, stiffly waved a hand and pointed. Then he turned and slunk off, followed by the two others.

"Hold on, no way we're leaving the Strikeflier alone," Takar barked harshly.

"Uh, Takar?" Lehvahk jabbed a thumb behind them, his voice quavering slightly. "I think you might've said that a bit too late. The mist bunnies bit."

"What the hells are you-" Takar whirled, his face going blank with rapt disbelief. "Talking..."

Fearon felt a stone settle in his gut. Slowly he turned, too, looking back to the empty patch of ground the spacecraft had once inhabited. Scout let out a harsh caw, running over to the spot and turning frustrated circles before running back. He dropped his head with a whine, and Lehvahk petted the visorak on the head. The dejected creature didn't seem to notice.

Yet his reaction was nothing compared to the pilot's.

"Shit!" Takar's yell was a bellow, a resounding cannon shot. The only vibrant emotion the pilot ever showed regularly besides pessimism and annoyance-rage-was burning in his eyes and racing across his facial futures with the speed of lightning. "Those bastards did it. I know they did. I'll flay them down to the fucking bone for this!"

Before anyone could prevent him, the kerion pilot had barreled after the greeting trio. Cursing the pilot's admirable but sometimes reckless devotion for the Strikeflier, Fearon bolted after him. "Come on. We can't lose him!"

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Somra dashed after Fearon, heartbeat pounding in her ears. Takar was rarely a fool, but this was the blunt, hapless act of one.

_He couldn't have been just a little more tactful, or patient? Thanks a lot, Takar, the shitstorm's coming down now. Not that I don't want to flay those bastards too...but I would have waited just a second. Just one._

She felt as though she had barely blinked, or even drawn a breath-but in that space of time the mist seemed to flatten out to reveal a circle of figures around them, and the strange buildings looming tall. The sudden disorientation brought Somra up short, and she skidded to an awkward halt.

"What the fuck?" she gasped breathlessly. Forget her heartbeat being the only thing on hyper drive-now every sense and muscle was tighter and more alert than ever before. The weaponsmaster swung one way and then the other, looking for her friends.

Somra breathed a sigh of relief when she found them. Frenzied emotions and instincts calming some, she ran over to them. Fearon, Lehvahk and Brendon had stopped not far away, back to back. Their hands hovered by their respective weapons, and Fearon especially was glaring at the crowd. Said crowd was a motley collection of different people and sentient creatures, everything from humanoids to animals and dragons-it wasn't hard to pick out a large variance of nationalities, too.

All of them shared one thing- a communally dead eyed, silent stare. Somra felt violated even as they continued, and she had no idea why. Rationally, Somra knew the feeling had no reason to exist, but she couldn't help it.

_Add that to the list of freaky shit in this place,_ the midnight blue varon thought unenthusiastically.

Looking left and right, Somra felt a cold jolt of dread. Takar was nowhere in sight.

_But what's that moving?_

She squinted. Not too far out in the throng, someone was thrashing, trying to fight their way out. But the oddly calm denizens just continued to pile on, like a ant colony inexorably taking apart a larger creature.

She looked harder, catching a glimpse of red eyes and a black brown mane of hair. Before she knew it Somra was shouting, trying to look for an opening.

"Takar! Bastards, let him go!"

From somewhere behind her came Fearon's confused voice. "Takar? You see him?"

"Yes!" Somra barked, pointing outward. "There!"

The crowd rippled, almost in sync with her hand motion. Then the pilot was thrown roughly out of the mass, landing in an ungainly stumble.

Wasting no more time was predominant in Somra's mind. Quickly the weaponsmaster ran over to the pilot. The brown gold kerion had by then regained his balance and was coughing into his fist.

She knelt beside her friend, hearing the sounds of other feet advancing toward them. Fearon's familiar presence manifested at her shoulder, and Somra caught a glimpse of his lithe form from the corner of her eye. Scout nudged up on her other side, sniffing with concern at Takar's hand. One of the only creatures Takar showed affection for, the pilot smoothed his crested head with one heavy hand.

"Hey, Takar! You okay?"

The kerion coughed one more time. Then he straightened fully and began shouting once more, clearly caring nothing for the consequences.

And judging from the rising levels of anger clouding his eyes, Somra didn't think he would stop on his own.

"Bloody bastards! Give us back the Strikeflier, or I wear I'll make every one of you pay. I'll make you-"

Quickly Brendon stepped up behind the pilot, struggling to reach up and cover his mouth. Just barely the lanky verwolf-dragon teen succeeded, resulting in a minor struggle to keep his bad tempered friend quiet.

Taking advantage of the brief pause he had been offered, Fearon shouted at the top of his lungs. "Alright, enough! Where the hell is your leader? We demand to know why you won't let us leave, and where our ship is!"

A brief disturbance registered in the crowd. At the same time Fearon's trained senses registered a distinctive change in the general atmosphere. A heavy presence, weighed with power and malice, was making itself known.

More than that, the bearer of said presence was making sure he noticed. It was an obvious attempt to play the intimidation game. To unnerve the target first, so they would make hasty and foolish decisions.

_Lucky for me I've seen worse,_ Fearon grimly reflected.

"You have demanded my presence? Well, I have graced you with the magnificent me."

The slim felisar man seemed to have materialized from nowhere. Startled, Fearon jumped back. In the time it had taken him to blink, the being had crossed yards and taken the confrontation to him.

Lanky and tall, the felisar was a monotone gray from his plain clothes to his fur and hair. Fearon felt he could see every bone in the man's body, giving the disturbing impression of a walking corpse. A booming laugh tore from the narrow chest, eyes narrowing in amusement. "My adoring subjects reported a disturbance."

The tone was deceptively light, heavy with an airy Skyberian accent. Fearon felt he could compare the new arrival's voice and expression to a deep, dark river with malice and secrets hidden in the shifting currents.

_I can't trust anything this guy says. It couldn't be more obvious he's hiding things._

Fearon knew. He'd dealt with shady people like this before, bartering underhanded deals, working out unstable alliances-he'd done it all before.

"So," Fearon stated coldly, looking the Skyberian in the eye. It was impossible to read what was in them-and Fearon had taken care to make sure it was vice versa. "Three questions. Who are you, why won't you let us leave, and what do you want from us?"

"Tsk, tsk, tsk. All those fine questions." A dark shadow passed through the leader's eyes. Madness? Fear? It was gone too quick to tell, but emphasized Fearon's first impressions that the mind behind those eyes was unstable, dangerously so. "Well, it's only best to start with the first question, eh? I am Quartermaster. You may not leave since-and you guessed it with the third question-we need something from you."

"From us?" Fearon stared incredulously. "What in the god's names could we give you? Money?"

"It had better not be the Strikeflier that you want!" Fearon tensed at Takar's yell. He shot a fiery look of rebuke over his shoulder. Takar just sneered back, but nonetheless remained silent.

_Don't go getting this freak angry or giving him ideas._

"Ah, no, nothing quite so simple." Quartermaster spread his bony fingers with flourish. "We need your fighting skills. Even in a reclusive place like this, news circulates about the up and coming fighters of the age. The old masters fade at the turn of the centuries, and new ones rise to fill their places. It is now, after all, the turn of the century."

Deciding there was no immediate combat to be had, Fearon loosened his shoulders. "And the news was…"

"That a group of young Falcon Squad recruits raided Teresal Isle and got out alive, for one. Bested Nakari of all people and took liberties that paid off." The lanky felisar's tone was carefully balanced between flattery and a nearly undetectable disdain. "Then there was the Hive-there have been quite a few niche stories about that. Once again a group of young ones apparently got to the Queen's chambers, and caught a renegade as a bonus. Unprecedented achievement, done only once by a figure of legend from Deltora's past until now." Quartermaster paused, his eyes roving hungrily across the group of teens. "You are close to fame, motley as you seem."

"Aw," Lehvahk puffed his chest out, clearly taken in by the words. "Thanks! I knew the world would recognize our greatness-ow!"

The sniper clutched at his side, where Somra had harshly elbowed him. Silently thanking Somra for the timely interruption, Fearon carefully sheathed his weapon. "And what exactly do you want us to fight?"

"The Mist monsters," the simultaneous response sent a chill jolt up his spine. Fearon whirled, instinctively looking for the speaker, only to see the unspoken mass as silent as ever.

"Yes, the Mist. It's living, you know. It hides the monsters, like a mother hiding her child from sight." Quartermaster's sudden cheer brought Fearon's former thought crashing to a halt. "They attack on whims. Wrecking havoc and killing. Quite a mess...but so beautifully savage."

_This guy's way too flippant. And that's not the only creepy thing about then there's all this nonsense about savage beauty, whatever the Seven Hells that means. _

There were many other signs that made Fearon want to say no then and there-but given the obvious disadvantage of numbers, they'd have to play along. Fearon made eye contact with each of his friends in turn, most of whom seemed to read his intent immediately. It took a subtle hand signal to stop Takar. He grumbled briefly, then impatiently shoved Brendon away.

"Alright, fine. _For now_-" Fearon put emphasis on the last two words-"We will play along."

Quartermaster's answering smile was one of the more disturbing things Fearon had ever seen. Eerily white, with several snapped teeth and a missing fang tooth. The whole thing complimented the skinny felisar man's already graveyard appearance.

"Good. We have some other travelers here, by the way, who have been…considering their course of action for some time. Another Deltoran, an Afrisian…a Atmosian. Stubborn as the rest of you." He pointed, out into the mass of dark structures. "But maybe a new presence will move them, eh?"

Before any of them could think of a coherent reply, the tide of watchers had closed around them. A large red dragon loped up beside them. A quick glance at the creature's jeweled eye, oddly dull, confirmed Fearon's grim theory-even the dragons among the crowd had been reduced to willing servants.

Yet he had a feeling that something more complex than simple mind control was going on here.

It didn't take long for their destination to abruptly loom out of the fog. It looked much like a rundown hotel building, schemed the same way as everything else in dark purple and sheet metal. Edging steadily away from the crowd, the whole group found themselves inside the lobby.

A dimly lit bonfire hovered in the middle of a shabby, wrecked looking foyer. Smoke from it clouded the entire space, oddly seeming not to make it to the nostrils of the new arrivals. Many more people where hovering around it, what looked like beer canteens clutched in their hands.

Outside the crowd retreated. Despite that, looking closely could reveal slight movement aplenty. Fearon growled in irritation. So much for sneaking out.

"So what now?"

Fearon blinked, then cast several wary glances around them while thinking of a response to Lehvahk's question. "Well, that's open for debate. But I don't think we should do anything until we locate people who aren't acting like robots."

"True, we need allies," Brendon picked up the dialogue. "And what better place to start than the other 'visitors,' mentioned?"

Somra snapped her fingers. "Of course! We can try working with them to get out of here."

"If they are willing," Takar grumbled, nursing his shoulder. Fearon suspected he had hit it at some point, though the likelihood of asking the pilot and getting an actual response was severely low. "Free will doesn't mean the bastards will work with us."

"No way to tell unless we try," Fearon retorted. Takar glared at him.

"Just don't expect a willing army, 'leader,' is all I'm saying," Takar's voice was dripping with a false respect.

"You-"

Fearon stopped short when the blunt base of Somra's spear hit him in the gut. He backed off coughing. Somra was glaring strongly at Takar, who for once seemed humbled into recalcitrant submission.

"Fight later. Find help now."

Both nodded a reluctant yes. A poisonous glance from Takar and a heated one from Fearon, though, confirmed what both already knew. That the debate of secrets wasn't anywhere near over.

"So, how to start looking?"

Fearon cast a wary eye over the group around the bonfire. A few more seconds of studying their general poses and lack of life was all he needed to tell their search did not start there. "The fire isn't a lead."

"Damn straight," Takar snorted. "They're just more brainless meatbags."

The blue green varon ignored him. Raking his fingers through some of his black bangs, he tried the next approach-thinking of where a sane person would go to try and get away from all this.

His eye trailed toward an open door out of the lobby. A second, faint glow came from it. It was a long shot, but maybe...

"Perhaps through there?"

Brendon peered past him and nodded. "Best bet we have. Even so-"

"Proceed with caution?"

"Why yes, Somra."

"Sometimes I hate caution," the midnight blue varon sighed. "It makes things so boring."

Brendon arched a brow. "And it also prevents any hasty mistakes."

Fearon slunk toward the door, eager to find the light and unwilling to wait for the argument to end.

_They'll realize I moved soon anyway._

His breath slowed until barely any air was flowing in and out. His steps became feather light. Fearon instinctively kept to the shadows, making sure he was nothing more than a suggestive shade. His hand hovered near the hilt of Kharash, the toothed sword ready to be drawn.

A room marked with peeling furniture came into view, and his ears could pick up voices. Fearon paused, straining to hear them and unwilling to come closer just yet.

"This is getting ridiculous." Atmosian and female, the tone of the voice was brash and clearly aggravated, if not close to explosive. Fearon was eerily reminded of Takar, except this person didn't seem to have the veneer of scorn and unhappiness the pilot always did.

The second speaker sounded curt and strained when they replied. Once again it was female, but had a deeper tone-one often attributed to the speaker talking low in their throat by habit. The Deltoran accent was palpable in the words. "Look, Edna, I know you want to leave, and really want the Ebonwing back-"

"No shit."

"But-" here a slight exhaustion crept in. "We are way outnumbered. Chances of getting out unnoticed or of winning a fight are super low. And I cannot in good conscience leave our latest friend behind."

Fearon's eyes narrowed. He was deliberating what to do when a deep growl sounded near him. Hearing the suction of air, Fearon leaped and rolled, avoiding a burst of harsh fire. He twisted, aiming for the flamer.

The reptilian wings and vestige of a draconic creature loomed from the dark. The beast swished a flaming tail, embers glowing along the scaly length, and sprang again. A roar tore from the flickering throat.

At the same instant, Scout lunged out from where he had been following the leader. He hissed out a tongue of fire and flashed his claws, even as the larger creature-one Fearon now knew was a Volcanora Black Tip Dragon- narrowed it's own eyes. It growled at the scarlet visorak.

Emboldened, Fearon gripped his sword harder.

"Hold, Draconix!"

Claws sparked on the slate floor. The fire dragon reared back and prowled into the light. There was a certain aspect to the dragonlike beast's light steps that Fearon couldn't help but admire as he moved back into the luminescence. Both combatants watched each other with wary eyes as the fire dragon circled around his master.

Now in better light, Fearon could see that the dragon was red, marked with black stripes down his spine. The head was narrow, with a short round snout, and bore a pair of gleaming, white horns that curved back in smooth arches.

The flames began at the tail tip, then continued up to the base in a slowly diminishing ridge of fire. Glowing whorls circled the length of the sinuous limb, the clear source of the embers he had seen earlier.

That master was the felisar sitting cross legged. From the slim and smooth feline face, it was a she. Brown gold fur gleamed past a simple jacket, t-shirt and sweatpants.

The volcanora nudged her. She nodded, pushing slim glasses up on her nose.

"You were watching us."

Fearon recalled what he had heard earlier. This seemed to be the owner of the Deltoran voice he had heard. "Yes. I needed to evaluate whether you were worth trusting."

"Hah!" The source of the derisive yelp leaned back on her haunches. The white merbian was dressed in green forest tones, her limbs thin but remarkably wiry. "You mean you were trying to decide if we were apathetic zombies like all the bastards out there."

He nodded, appreciating the merbian's bluntness. "Hell yeah. We want to get out of here, and help could be good. Really good."

"'Really good,' huh?" The felisar swished her tail, taking up the conversation once more.

"Yes."

"We should start with first names." Fearon slowly eased into a kneeling position. "I think it's safe to say that you three are not apathetic servants?"

"Unless I'm one of them without realizing it. A doubtful thing, in all honesty. Ryfen's the name."

Fearon indicated to himself. "Fearon."

He was bracing for a reaction even as he said it. His reputation had leaked out during his time in his lone fighter for hire business, and enough people had heard of it to breed distaste at times.

Ryfen raised a dark eyebrow. One cattish ear twitched. Then she swiftly moved on without further delay, even though Fearon was able to spot a glint of recognition. "This dragon's name is Draconix. I tend to call him Drac a lot, though." Wryly she grinned. "It just fits."

Fearon eyed the protective looking beast. He inclined his head and swished the flaming tail tip. A slight scowl pinched the red creature's eye ridges.

"Don't worry, I won't be fighting you now," Fearon muttered, half to himself and half to the fire dragon.

Draconix gave him a last narrow eyed look before laying his head down. Fearon could still feel the watchful gaze pinned on him despite it, and nodded carefully as Ryfen petted her guard on the head.

"Forgive him. Strangers haven't been a good thing of late. Bloody bastards have been enemies all along, at least-that's how we all feel."

"I don't blame him." Fearon gestured. "No one here seems of the trustworthy status. Though I am hoping we can trust each other."

And Fearon meant it. From Quartermaster's earlier words, he had made it plain that these people could fight.

Draconix's head shot up. He growled loudly, eliciting a startled yelp from behind Fearon. "Dragon?"

"Oh, hi Lehvahk," Fearon didn't even look around. "Meet our new friend."

"Hey, look who we found." Somra's loud whisper sounded from behind the sniper.

"_Garvast_, Lycanthropes."

**I am hoping that so far, this story is refreshingly good. Later on down the road, there will be some mental juiciness, but I will not be spoiling anyhting by saying. **

**Pls give reviews on ch 2 :)**


	3. Allies old and new

_New definitions-_

_Shuttle-a small vehicle, used by most of the world outside Atmos for aerial combat, comparable to a car with a rounded front. Often have retractable roofs and autopilot for hand to hand battle.  
><em>

_Volcanora Black Tip-a incredibly rare breed of Black Tip dragons, a slim and deft species known for climbing trees and living in forests. _

_For reminders on nationality traits, dodge back to ch 1 :)_

_DECEPTION_

CH 3

ALLIES OLD AND NEW

Fearon turned, not sure what to expect. The voice sounded familiar, but he had no way of knowing if this was so. A monster wearing a familiar face? A oddly detached resident once more? Another trick to compliment all the others?

With a wave of strong relief, the blue green kerion dipped his head in respect to the one who stood before him. Archdruid Ivya, a Sky Knight herself, was well known as one of the best the nation Afrisia had ever produced. Powerful, strong, and radiating a quiet power and authority like a palpable aura, she was the last person Fearon had expected.

_The last person he had expected..._

Fearon narrowed his eyes at the archdruid. Clear wings draped around her shoulders, the green black zalbat stared back. The steady question hovered behind the glass of her eyes, the same question ringing in his head.

"Are you truly Redskye?"

"Are you truly Archdruid Fara'las?

"Blood."

Fearon blinked. "What?"

"Blood," Ivya repeated, smiling softly with her bat fangs, "and battle are how Deltorans best like to discover truth and lies, yes? In a good, pure fight, one can tell what is flesh, what has conviction to fight-and if the bright fire of spirit burns through that, one knows."

Fearon nodded slowly. Yes. At least seventeen billion years ago, when Deltora was naught but eight warring tribes, it had been so. Blood had proved everything. Whom was stronger and who was fit to lead. The tribes were lead by the one who survived the fight.

Battle was still important. It was still part of the process to elect representatives for the Deltoran Parliament, though it was no longer the sole factor and did not end in death-the practice was a shared one worldwide. On a planet like Amihawk, being able to fight in some way or manner was vitally important.

"Then come, my new accomplishes and old." Ivya bent her head, showing Fearon mutual respect. "We will fight outside. This hallway is too narrow."

in the next blurred few seconds Ivya and Fearon were both once again in the smoggy, firelit foyer. Ivya spun, her wings creaking open. Revealed beneath was a slim figure with bowed legs, draped in a traditional Afrisian robe. It was brown, figures of the sun and animals sewn onto it in enchanting patterns. Feathers adorned the hems in colorful tassels.

From a pair of belts, the archdruid drew a pair of runic daggers. She held them, keen eyes fixed on Fearon.

He met her eyes and nodded. For either of them to be satisfied, a straight duel of blades was needed-it had already been silently agreed that for this, no magic would be used, besides the power inherent in rune-weapons themselves. Instinct and raw power where the tools of the trial.

The bony varon reached back and drew Kharash and Syraphe. They hissed as they emerged, a pair of lunar steel snakes aching for combat.

Xxxixxxixxxixxxixxxixxxixxxixxxixxxixxxi

Somra hated arguing with Brendon. He was a calm person who liked plans-Somra liked immediate battle, immediate action. The problem with arguing with Brendon was how smart he was. No matter what she said, he was able to calculate, nod, and then come up with yet another point before she could do anything.

"And I say again, waiting for a plan gives people a chance to pound you-or kill you."

"And I say, that plans help much more." Brendon clasped his hands behind his back, eying her with a piercing green eye. "Do it from a safe place, and no strength is wasted uselessly on blundering about with no idea what you are doing."

Steaming, Somra was about to counter again, only to be beaten to the punch.

"Of course, useless blundering can always have the chance of success."

Somra glanced at the felisar whom had suddenly appeared beside her. "Yes, I suppose. See, Brendon?"

Brendon snorted out a huff of laughter. "I can concede with grace and admit that you are correct this once."

"This once?" Somra raised a eye crest. "I'm right all the time."

The drawing of blades resounded in her ears. Startled, she whipped around and looked over one shoulder, to find two familiar figures circling with drawn weapons. Both already had a feral light in their eyes.

Fearon and Ivya Fara'las.

"Aye, what-"

"Don't. This is a important mock fight. It will cement trust that this Ivya is the archdruid herself, rather than some kind of foul trick." The felisar smiled crookedly. "And in turn, that cements the fact that me and friends are not part of these crowds. Ivya can vouch for us."

"Besides," the white merb beside her said eagerly, "It's a fight, right?" the fire dragon beside her lashed his flaming tail, eying the space ahead with eagerness. The rare black tip allowed some fire to roll over his tongue.

Somra glanced at the foggy interior, the enthusiasm of the dragon warming her slightly-though not by much. The shapes of several new onlookers could be made out, staring emptily while holding their beer tankards.

"I do like fights," she said, though the weaponsmaster lacked her usual vigor.

It was the the fault of the audience that she felt this way, Somra knew. The eerie, empty nature of these people made her constantly cold in the already damp air, as though she was slowly freezing to death. They were lifeless shells with dead eyes. Somra couldn't even see the barest glint of light, as though the black pits led to a soulless, icy night. She shuddered at the comparison, wishing at least some of these bastards would show a simple spark.

By contrast, Ivya and Fearon where pits of vibrant fire, bright of eyes and swift of limbs.

The two clashed almost immediately, teeth bared. They locked into a dance of strength and power, hot with the thrill of battle. Blades sparked, zalbat wings battered, and varon tails lashed in tandem with feet and knees. The fighting pair would separate, then rush once more, dodge and strike with all the fluidity of water. They were wolves, brawling and fighting to sharpen their fangs.

The fight was short, yet the conflict left the two visibly drained. They broke apart, thin cuts decorating cheeks and arms and bruises already visible. Panting and with sweat on their brows, the Afrisian and the Deltoran stood straight, bowing heads to each other.

Ivya held out one dagger. Fearon held out Syraphe. The weapons crossed, the silent oath renewed and silently spoken. It had been sworn first some time ago, after the Lycanthropes had just escaped Teresal. Somra remembered it well-fighting bounty hunters one after another in the ramshackle ruins, the bloody and intense fight with one of the officers, and Nakari screaming as they flew, triumphant, from the island.

Mostly triumphant. They had ended up destroying what they had come to obtain. But at least the Lucar hadn't been able to keep it and pass the relic on to their mysterious customers.

And in the end they had met the first of their allies. The one clasping Fearon's hand now.

"Fearon Redskye."

"Archdruid Ivya Fara'las."

They nodded a final time before sheathing weapons.

Freed from the intoxicating thrill of the fight, Somra felt a new rush of joy as she fully comprehended that Ivya was here. The archdruid hid a surprisingly violent inner nature in tandem with her philosophical and healing ones, and she and Somra shared a liking of battle and the grisly effects of weapons.

"Ivya!"

The female zalbat jumped, then looked over her shoulder and smiled a fanged grin. In the dim light, to any stranger, Somra felt that the druid would have looked menacing. But Somra looked past that, into the eyes. And found that a similar happy spark danced in Ivya's brown orbs.

As she approached, Somra held out her hand. Firmly Ivya grasped it, the wiry muscle and bony knuckles firm under her skin. It was smooth, as Somra remembered, but with a subtle leathery feel, like that of a saddlebag.

Somra cocked her head and, happy to forget the claustrophobic fear, began to rattle of her questions. "Anything new with you? Any weapons to show me? Any stories to share?" Some of her fire died as a more practical question surfaced. "And what are you doing here?"

Ivya's face darkened. "All good questions. As for their answers-I was visiting a nearby city. Broome, I believe. I felt a call, some urge to come out here. At first I thought it to be due to Hira..."

Somra winced. Fearon looked away. Hira was sensitive to any Deltoran-the abandoned city was the heaviest loss they had suffered in the war. Efforts to recover from the earlier devastation by the Shadow Lord had focused first on inhabited places. Vacated as one of the first cities targeted, Hira had been dropped to low priority.

It had been a breathtaking, living city at one time, the powerful capital of the Opal Territory. A massive bastion in it's own right, Hira had been the site of Deltora's unification-a pivotal event in history. But subject to immense amounts of corruption, and with the Enemy's servant dwelling within, the city had steadily become tainted, the shadows soaking into it with all the permanent effects of ink on cloth. Within wards set up to prevent spreading, the shadow magic had festered.

And shadow magic did not fade, not like other kinds of energy did. Rather, it became stronger as time went by. When at last all other inhabited and newly founded cities had been finished, it was far too late to save Hira. Consumed by the shadow magic, poisonous to anything alive, the corrupted arcane had killed the earth in and around the city for several miles. The terrible scar would never support any life again, and stood out harshly from the green of the rest of the plains.

Ivya smiled bitterly at the shadows on her friend's faces. Somra knew well that the archdruid found the fate of Hira just, if not as horrible and unspeakable, as they did. Druids tended and nurtured life-though Somra was no druid, she still felt a gaping pit of sorrow when thinking of Hira and the fate it would have. For what could well be eternity, the happy and awe inspiring plains capital was now nothing more than rotting ruins, infested with death and evil. The brightness of life would never grace it again.

And to add to the blow, it was a smarting reminder that even though Deltora had won the war, the nation had still lost something unspeakably important to the Enemy. In a way, the Shadow Lord had still won.

_The bloody bastard probably still laughs from the Shadowlands, enjoying watching us mourn one of our most loved cities, and comfort those who lost the beloved capital of their Territory. Just like him to enjoy tormenting us, even now. _

Fearon coughed, breaking the awkward silence. "Right. Anyway, were you called to land, like us?"

"My shuttle was beset by this fog, indeed," Ivya cast some wary glances around her, as though expecting some kind of attack. Somra didn't blame her-a odd prickling was racing up and down her own spine. "A being with a Wildemoor accent demanded I land. These three-" the druid gestured to the felisar, white merb and the volcanora black-tip dragon- "Ryfen, Edna, and Draconix, were called down under similar straits."

Ryfen sighed grudgingly, the golden brown felisar crossing her arms as all eyes turned to her. "We actually did attempt to fly away, but without the navigation active for whatever bloody reason, we just went in circles. No matter what direction we went in." Ryfen scowled, and Somra felt herself sympathizing with the other Deltoran. The humiliating decision still stung her especially, a blow to Somra's pride. "So we finally had to abstain.."

"And then they fucking took the Ebonwing!" Edna interjected. The skinny merbian glared at the few surrounding shades that were still watching. "When I find out what in the Seven Hells they did with it, I will kill them. All of the bastards, terribly."

Takar barked out a harsh reel of laughter, causing Somra to jump. The pilot hadn't spoken at all for some time, and Somra had almost forgotten he was there. If it had not been for his brooding attitude, that was. It was as palpable as the mist.

"Glad to hear someone agrees with me. My Strikeflier was taken." Glowering, Takar glanced at the people around the firepit, sneezing. Somra guessed the irritation was from the smoke and the ever present hint of rust-the smells clawed the senses with microscopic claws, yet the source was all but undetectable.

In irritation she wiped at her nose with one hand. Takar continued to talk, and Somra suspected that he was speaking to himself now.

"I'll be killing those bastards,too. I was going to, until those cowards stopped me-"

"Strikeflier," Edna muttered. Her eyes brightened, with both enthusiasm and a dangerous spark that Somra identified easily as anger-gods knew she herself had been that way before. "_The_ Strikeflier?"

_I'm likely leaning toward it right now, more or less._ The hot lick of anger was kindling slowly but surely within her, filling veins, carried in Somra's blood. She barely noticed when Edna began to coax the ship's history from the grudging kerion. The anger was making her stronger, like a drug, but undeniably unlike that-it was a natural adrenaline. Good, pure, the product of emotion.

Somra wanted to use it. All she needed was a target-to either hurt, or play with.

Xxxixxxixxxixxxixxxixxxixxxixxxixxxixxxi

Lehvahk had gotten bored.

The fight had been amazing-fascinating to him despite being Atmosian rather than Deltoran, and Atmos didn't necessarily have a battle orientated culture. But when it had ended, Lehvahk had quickly and effectively registered three things.

_Ivya's still here. _

_Huh, I guess we aren't alone. _

_Now they're just talking with those other guys, I'll get back to them later. I wanna explore more. _

And therefore, Lehvahk took his first step toward-wait for it-the unknown.

The brown verwolf shivered in anticipation. Yes. This was the first step to adventure. He would turn exploring this drab and depressing place into a amazing journey. Something and anything to stop him from truly registering the dire situation.

It didn't take him long to discover something odd. Lehvahk paused, tilting his head to one side. He allowed his jaw to drop open.

"Huh?"

In hindsight, it was a stupid thing to say. But the oddity before him was simply too much. A haggard man sat cross legged on what seemed to be a ordinary, hotel check-in desk. But instead of pens and paper and humming consoles, caskets of various alcohols graced the marble. Lehvahk counted at least six kinds of it ranging from harsh, stinging Morian vodka, sweet northern wine from the northern Renim, light Fracastian ale, and Deltora's heady beer. There were more-but these were the only ones he knew.

He'd snitched tastes from all of them. Just sips, and where Lehvahk had been living at the time-no one had cared how old he was.

He winced. These thoughts were unwelcome. Lehvahk already thought he was hearing voices, and it gave him a feeling as if something was worming silently under his skin. This was not the time or place to accidentally fray his nerves even more.

And the nearest temporary escape from this madness was here before him. Lehvahk had yet to afflict himself with a hangover, but at this point he was ready. Despite his joking, he was cunning and had common sense-and Lehvahk was tired of thinking. His enthusiasm was all but drained at this moment, oddly fast given his previous fervor. Now he was clawing dregs up from the well of his physiologically tortured head. The voices and the weird, wormy feeling created a unsettling mental feeling that his life would soon end.

_Bet Brendon would be shocked if I used such a big word, _he thought blandly. He decided almost as soon to just go for it.

"Hey."

He got no response. Annoyed, Lehvahk moved closer and poked the leg of his target with one finger. Quickly he pulled back-the skin was clammy, and seemed far too cold. He sniffed at the air, but the overpowering rust scent had done it's work.

_Great. Nose is still messed up. Well, at least I won't have to smell Takar's dingy old grease rags anymore. _

The human man, unhealthily pale in the smoggy light, slowly lifted a head wreathed in ragged hair. Blankly, with a stare worthy of a corpse, he stared back. Then responded, lips moving with a visible effort.

"Yes?" the word came out slow, with the drawl of someone half asleep. It sounded strained even with the drawl, dragged up from the depths of the chest.

"Dude, you sure you are okay?" Lehvahk asked warily, while still trying to maintain a confident air. Every creepy movie he had seen was surfacing, bringing images of bloody monsters, ghosts and ghouls to call. Unwillingly, the very real dilemma of vile necromancy reeled in the space in the forefront of his mind. Eyes influenced by the lucid images, Lehvahk even thought the human before him looked a bit like those creatures, or the shambling abominations of a necromancer.

Steeling himself, Lehvahk crossed his arms and attempted to look intimidating. The other just stared back, a gangly and skinny shell with blank eyes.

"I want to see some of the drinks."

Almost feverishly, the hollow eyes flicked to the alcohol, with a odd and burning possessiveness.

Lehvahk frowned._ Perhaps he's a alcoholic?_

A rumble rolled in the man's throat. It took a moment for Lehvahk to register that this was a laugh. A paltry, emotionless excuse for one, that was. Even as a growl, the sound barely passed for that. The ragged man leaned forward further, eyes still looking feverish. At the same time Lehvahk noted the red rimmed signs of sickness around his eyes.

The sniper shuddered, but continued to speak. "Any chance you'd let me at that Renim wine?"

Eyes flickering like shutters in the wind, the response was swift. A harsh intake of breath rattled the chest of the human. "No."

Lehvahk glared at him. He couldn't legitimately believe what he was hearing. "Why the Hells not?"

The first thing Lehvahk expected was a jab at his age, and that it would be stated he was too young. Lehvahk begged to differ. His life had long progressed past innocence. He was not, though, expecting what actually came out.

"It is mine." the finality of the words hinted at the barest hint of emotion. A remarkable feat, Lehvahk figured, given that the inhabitants of the freakzone had the emotional range of rocks and dirt. At the moment the discovery only served to annoy him.

"It's yours? Only _yours?" _He repeated it, just to be sure he had heard right. A blank nod was his response. Not actual words. That was of course too much to ask for. No, just a blank stare-and a nod.

No way he would accept that.

_No way I'm putting up with this shit. _

"Oh, yours, yours? _Seriously? _Well, no freaking way, dude. Other people here have drinks-clearly they aren't only fucking yours!"

Lehvahk waved his arms and continued rambling, ignoring the continued lack of response. "Or are you discriminating, huh? Only your friends get it, or only people from wherever the Seven Hells you grew up?" Anger growing, Lehvahk gave into impulse. His hands clutched coarse material that he only registered as fabric a moment later. Rapidly he started to shake him, almost feeling hysterical. "Tell me, dammit!"

"Lehvahk!" Brendon's voice rang out, almost seeming to melt into a odd, malformed ringing. "Where are you?"

Lehvahk started violently. Head spinning, the stocky verwolf looked over his shoulder. Then he looked back at the target of his brief aggression.

Immediately he fell back with a scream. Any other time, he would have cared how high it was. Right now he could care less-terror itself stood before him.

The human's face had become nightmare fuel, a picture of blazing red eyes and fangs. It was a demon's face, from the darkest pits themselves, wrapped over another creature's image. The man stood, crouched gargoyle style, and leered at him.

Lehvahk pointed a shaking finger. "Uh, what-"

Then the face melted back to normal, or close to it. Leaving a normal face with blank eyes staring into his soul.

Eyes wide as plates, Lehvahk did the only thing he could think of. He backed up, then ran.

He wasn't a coward. But such a unexplained transformation, then the sudden reversion, all fed with a force of pure fear-it was too much. It scared him as though he had seen the deepest of the Seven Hells.

Lehvahk broke out of his daze when he hit someone. Said someone was thrown down, while the sniper stumbled awkwardly in circles.

Everything was spinning. Why the ground up, the wall down, and now the floor was down, and all the things turning and rolling...

_Hehe, pretty stars..._

_xxixxixxixxixxixxx_

Brendon didn't believe in ghosts. Spirits were real enough-shaman had been encountering them for countless eons since the dawn of the planet. But not ghosts.

When the look on Lehvahk's eyes was as if he had seen one, Brendon wasn't sure what to think. The mage believed in the laws of arcane and space, and accepted the unexplainable traits of arcane as Amihawkians often did in general. Not everything was within explainable boundaries, especially on a planet sufficed with war, dark secrets and mutual distrust-along with the brighter things, the life that had flourished even in the wakes of such disasters, and the great accomplishments of history.

In hindsight, perhaps ghosts were possible.

Even as those words spun around in Brendon's head, he was gasping to regain breath, splayed on his back. Lehvahk's trajectory had managed to hit his middle head on-effectively bruising a few bones and creating a throbbing ache in his spine. Brendon had little flesh covering his bones, and now he felt the impact had made each one ache.

A wild eyed Lehvahk continued to turn circles before him even as Brendon unsteadily regained his feet. Tottering, the brown blizzarian noticeably attempted to regain his senses even as Brendon stood fully.

"Oh, hi, where'd you-OH GODS NO I CAN'T GET IT OUT OF MY HEAD-"

"Lehvahk!" Brendon had to shout loud enough to drown his panicking friend's voice, invoking a throb of pain in his throat. Lehvahk had a talent for being loud, and this was one scenario where it was beyond noticeable. He grasped the shaking sniper by the shoulders. Lehvahk was shorter than him, but thicker built. Brendon's narrow fingers gripped his shoulders hard.

"Whatever you saw, is it here still?" keeping his voice carefully steady, Brendon tried to get into a consoling mentality. He somehow manged despite breathing in the smoky air and becoming steadily warmer the more they stood by the bonfire.

Blue eyes wide, Lehvahk nodded, looking furtively over his shoulder. Brendon sighed in relief. He was always good at this-calming down his upset friends. Compared to them, the blizzarian half dragon's problems were barely anything.

Lehvahk began to suck in long, shaky breaths that got smoother the more he did so. "Find your zen, find your zen, find your zen place," he began to mutter over and over, beginning to sound happier.

Brendon nodded, slowly releasing his friend's shoulders. He peered back the way Lehvahk had come, just spotting some shadowy outlines in the distance. Questions began to influx into his mind, along with a very tantalizing thought.

_Perhaps we have a clue. _

"Lehvahk, come on. I need you to take me to where you saw this."

Lehvahk sprang back, alarm flashing repetitively over his features. "What? No, no. no way. I just escaped from there!"

"Where you actually attacked? Or did you just see something?"

"Uh..." Lehvahk sheepishly glanced at the ground. "I guess nothing actually hit me."

"Then it will be easy enough to run a second time, right?"

"Why do I even need to come? I could just go back to the others."

Brendon hesitated. Why did he even want Lehvahk to stay?

He already knew even as he asked himself. Brendon felt that if he were to lose sight of Lehvahk now, he would never find the brown verwolf again. The fear was perhaps unfounded. Regardless, a unexplainable instinct told Brendon that none of them should be alone in this place, and that Lehvahk had likely been lucky that the halfling had found him at all.

"I just think it will be a lot better if we stay together. What even made you think it was safe to go off on your own?" Brendon began to walk, keeping a hold on Lehvahk's arm to keep him from bolting. "Surely you couldn't have missed the feeling of danger out here."

"Uh well, no-but we, um you don't-" Lehvahk waved his hands wildly, stumbling on his words. "You don't need me-"

Sighing, Brendon grabbed the brown verwolf by the arm. Then he navigated the smoggy world according to Lehvahk's reluctant directions.

When they arrived, Brendon was greeted with the same scrawny man Lehvahk had met before. Brendon immediately picked up on a air of wrongness, pervading the air around the man. He grimaced, wrinkling his nose, almost able to smell the sour taint. Below it was a second scent, oddly familiar yet unidentifiable.

"So, my friend tells me you are a interesting man."

the man frowned. "Yes..."

"Well, see, we are newcomers here." ignoring Lehvahk's fidgeting, Brendon pulled his lips back in a smile. "And we are curious, how did this unique little place come into being." Brendon eased his elbow onto the table. "We hope you can tell us. Do you mind?"

the human's eyes flickered from side to side, a cornered rat looking for a escape. Brendon narrowed his eyes, sending Lehvahk a meaningful glance. Reluctantly Lehvahk shifted to block the man's way. "Well?"

the cornered rat of a man seemed to cave. "Ah, very well."

"So, who founded Shak'ora Delmu?" Brendon spread his hands. "It is almost like Epsilon, or New Eztar, or Ship's Landing."

"Well...Quartermaster founded us."

"Yes, of course. And why? There must have been a good reason. No establishment is allowed."

"A...small town for hunters to stay in." Brendon didn't miss the brief hesitation. There was a lie here, but he continued to press on. "That sounds potentially beneficial. Why not reveal yourselves and pitch that idea to the government? How long has this place existed?"

Brendon's casual tone, despite his best attempt, sounded forced. Regardless, the human continued, sounding more monotone by the minute. "Yes, I suppose...but really, it is just important to Quartermaster for us to stay hidden, even htough it has been twenty years, I think. He knows that people won't want him..."

Brendon narrowed his eyes quizzically. "It is only important for him? The rest of you don't count?"

"No, he-he does care about us.."

"I see." Brendon nodded. "Well, thank you for your time, sir. It is helpful for visitors to know such things-it helps endear people to your little town."

"Yes..."

"Brendon! Lehvahk!"

Lehvahk glanced in the direction of the call. "uh, I think we should go now..."

glancing at him, Brendon addressed the human one last time. "Yeah, I suppose we should. Perhaps next time, we should meet over a drink. "

Brendon inclined his head respectfully one more time, peering up past his brows. Past the ragged hair of the other, he could sight eyes that now seemed to hold a deep, burning intelligence. As he stood and turned away, it vanished. "Come, let us go."

"So..." Lehvahk leaned closer to Brendon as they walked. "Do you think he was lying?"

the part dragon verwolf gnawed carefully at his lip. He had been running a mental analysis of the entire conversation as he spoke-and Brendon felt it could be safely assumed myriads of things had been kept from them, buried as deep as the core of the earth. "I think we got truth and lies. But I'm not explaining here." Brows furrowed, Brendon's ears twitched and peered ahead, attempting to spot any eavesdroppers. "I want to explain in front of the others."

they hadn't been walking a minute before running into Fearon, the rest of the Lycanthropes and their new allies at his shoulder. Looking fiercely relieved, the leader greeted them with a wide smile.

"Hey." Fearon lodged his hands in his pockets, looking back up with bright eyes. "What were you doing? We were getting worried."

"Lehvahk managed to find a local that seemed more talkative than the rest," Brendon tilted his head and smiled a grim grin.

"Wouldn't it be nice if he told us some actual information?" Ryfen jabbed her thumb and sent a disgusted glance at the large crowd in the corner. "We tried from our end, but we came up dry."

"We got some story about this being a place for hunters to stay, then some other bits of information about this town having to stay hidden for the last twenty years." Brendon shrugged slightly, playing with his hands apologetically. "I guess it wasn't all that much."

"It is better than what we got," Ivya consoled. "Barely any of these other ones spoke, and even then, it was only one word answers that were all but useless."

"A hunting town?" Takar laughed harshly. A snarl graced his face. "That's bull. In what world would that be allowed on the Highlands? It is a form of bloody establishment. And we all know that is illegal."

"Of course I don't believe that part is true." Brendon paused and drew a deeper breath. "I think that all we can gather from this is that Quartermaster wants Shak'ora Delmu never to be discovered."

Ryfen rolled her eyes toward the ceiling. "Maybe he's planning a surprise." Snorting, she continued, losing her sarcastic happiness. "No. clearly it's something sinister. Maybe a surprise attack? A underground coup?"

"Maybe." Fearon's shoulders rose and fell, his brow creased in confusion. "But how has no one found his town here? There's no way it should have stayed undetectable this long. Something like this would stand out eventually here."

"Maybe a blind spot in the satellites?" Lehvahk suggested tentatively. Brendon sighed and waited for the backlash.

"No freaking way, imbecile," Somra spat. She crossed her arms and glared down at the sniper. "Deltora has the best technology."

"This nation pioneered arcane infused machinery," Brendon supplemented. A small surge of pride warmed his chest, a welcome change from the cold that had been settled there as a result of despair. "We had the the best then, and we still do."

"This accursed place does something to tech," Takar swept his hair back with one hand. "The Strikeflier's navigation and lights went down, remember? And my bloody communicator hasn't turned on since. Not even a flicker of a hologram or button."

"Gods dammit," Fearon muttered. "I didn't even think to check that..."

"Not that it would have done any good, dumbass. I'm sure the result is the same across the board."

subtly Brendon glanced down at his own rectangular device, moving his thumb across the switches. He groaned softly when he found the pilot was correct. They couldn't have been more sealed off from help than if the group had been trapped in the Shadowlands.

"So we have no choice but to go on a monster hunt?" Brendon groaned. He didn't want to force his bone tired body to fight-he would rather just get the Strikeflier back, and curl up within with his books.

"Yes," he answered Levak's question with a grim, humorless smile and a rise of his shoulders. "We have no choice at all."


	4. Embodiment of Dread

_DECEPTION_

CH4

EMBODIMENTS OF DREAD

In the silence that followed the acceptance of Quartermaster's terms, thunder crashed. It was sudden and caused already tense nerves to snap like bowstrings.

Takar's fur rose as his ears pricked. He swore that another sound had followed the crash, a animal howl of rage. Almost without knowing it, he had shifted so that he could peer at the glass doors.

The mist moved greedily against them. Takar squinted, the shadows in the mists seeming to dance inside this pupils, then within his mind, invasive demons begging for attention.

Cautiously his hand inched toward the arcane blaster slung on his shoulder. Made to run on traces of arcane energy in the air, it was one of the few things he had been lucky enough to to be carrying before the bastards had taken the Strikeflier without a trace. Also slung over his back was the heavy two handed runic blade Rhalgder-often purposed in brute force and with his own magic.

Takar had to bare his teeth to bite back the harsh growl rumbling in his throat. He could feel the muscles around his eyes pulling into a narrow eyed glare. The Strikeflier was, to him, a extension of himself, as much as a arm or his tail. He needed his home, sanctuary, and the only friend he could unconditionally count on. Living beings were still not high on his list of reliable things in the world.

Another movement flashed outside. Takar jerked up into his full height and advanced a few feet toward the door, slinging the arcane blaster off his shoulder. It was large, powerful ranged weapon, affectionately named Myridar-even better, he could heft the two handed weapon easily, and didn't have to be a precision shooter to destroy things with it. He shifted on one foot, feeling the weight of the heavy dagger at his hip.

Only vaguely did he notice that the others had stopped speaking. He heard padded steps behind him, and then Fearon was at his shoulder. The swordsman had moved with all the silence of a ghost, and sometimes that feeling felt all too accurate to Takar.

The blue green varon's visible eye, eerily feline in yellow orange colors, had fixated on the doors too. The leader rocked onto his toes, hands spread and arms out in a predatory stance. He was a crouching animal ready to spring now, and Takar soon spotted the white flash of his teeth as a grin emerged. Fearon lived in part for this, the thrill of combat and the shedding of enemy blood.

"What do you see?" Fearon breathed. His runeblades slid out with a low hiss of steel on leather, the enchanted metal gleaming sharp silver.

Takar let his brows furrow and allowed his own angry snarl to grow. One thing after another seemed determined to churn his temper into a blazing pyre. "I think..." more movement. Flashes of teeth and a glimpse of an eye, gleaming with a animal light. "That I just saw some mean looking bastards."

Then, with a swiftness that mirrored a sudden storm, the glass doors shattered as a slavering form crashed through it with a rush of brutality.

The pilot leaped to the side, screaming in anger as he loosed a barrage of shots. Allowing his magic to surge, he felt the blaster leap as he released shot after enhanced shot. He had become one with the technology within Myridar, and the arcanite blaster hummed in response. Plaster rained, and Takar laughed as the charging shape stumbled. Burnt scents of flesh and fur wafted into his nose. It was intoxicating, a escape from all his fears and worries, a way to empty all his present frustration fully onto a enemy bastard.

The beast jerked upright further, stiffening. Takar spotted a canine visage through the the dust, red eyed, smeared with blood. Wet teeth gleamed on the bottom jaw, the enamel stained brown, rimmed blue from the sudden flash of light from outside.

Thunder. But where the hell had the storm come from?

The beast whirled, and Takar only saw teeth. He yelled and swung the blaster. The metallic arcanite shell slammed into the thing's brow, pounds of parts and enchanted metal. The creature withdrew and then lunged again, the brief gap allowing Takar to smoothly transition from Myridar to Rhalgder. With a bellow he swung the two handed weapon. The blunt slash cut a deep incision across the beast's face. It was easy to tell the monster had just avoided getting much worse from the heavy runeblade, by pulling back just in time.

The animal barked, then howled, the pain of both attacks clear in the tenor of the keening cry. It whirled as Fearon attempted to attack, a blood-chilling snarl on the animal's mangled face. The blades glanced off the hide, eliciting nothing more than a irritated hiss. The monster's paws came down, one managing to catch Fearon on the shoulder. The varon snarled and fell back, jumping another claw swipe and bringing one foot down.

Fearon's heel cracked into the center of the animal's paw. It keened in anger and pain and flinched back. The opening instantly clear to him, Takar twisted the barrel of the arcane blaster.

"Gods-dammed beast!" Takar hefted Myridar and shot wildly again.

This time he managed to knock the creature back. The dragon sized wolf's claws skittered on the ground with a hoarse, grinding squeal. Smoke wafted from the charred hair, and Takar caught a satisfying glimpse of red skin, though more minimal than he'd have liked. This far, the amount of damage this thing seemed vulnerable to appeared to be wildly inconsistent. And the more that happened, the more Takar grudgingly admitted to himself that it inspired fear in him.

White glared around the wolf even as it attempted to right it's footing again. Ice began to creep up the legs of the beast, twining and interlocking almost as if they were vines. It began to thicken layer after layer, and the monster began to struggle. Scout leaped from below and latched onto the beast's head, biting it's ear. Smoke began to broil from between his teeth, and the wolf let out a angry scream of pain.

"Get to him!" Brendon held his staff tighter, the dragon totem glowing like a white star. "The ice won't hold that long."

Fearon hissed. "More than happy to perform that service!" he lunged with vigor, Kharash and Syraphe's runic engravings glowing with vigorous light. Fearon brought the blades down, lightning fast, teeth bared in a snarl. A howl rang as he brought down the blades.

Takar squinted at the spot of the break as Fearon kicked off the beast's flank and landed in a flat-footed stance. The hide of the monster had cracked, creating a thin flow of blood.

Fearon cursed loudly, echoing Takar's own thoughts. The blows should have been far worse-runeblades in the hands of a powerful wielder could cut bare iron with ease unless it was heavily enchanted. Yet even the direct hit had done nothing more than a minor injury at best.

The huge wolf tossed it's head, even the small amount of blood seeming to fuel the unholy fire in the red eyes. A second violent toss threw Scout off, the creature's claws detaching from the monster's suddenly tougher hide. More thunder sounded, the beast's teeth and claws flashing demonically in the light. It seemed to swell, drawing the light into itself. Chips of the ice began to fall, even as the fire eating the beast's ear began to flicker out. The animal shifted, ever so slightly, and more cracks began to leak through. Brendon cursed from nearby, and sent a white hot blast of fire from one hand. The fire pushed the animal back, but resulted once more in nothing but singed skin.

Any normal creature would have had bone showing at that point.

The pilot took a unintended step back. It gave him the chance to see a completely empty room besides them, empty as though never inhabited. The residents had faded into the night almost like shades, and even the stark flashes of lightning revealed no one hiding in the shadows. The fields outside had as much life as a graveyard, stretches of grass lit and pockmarked with shadows and eerie light. They had been left alone with the monster and bane of these people.

"Bloody hells, where are all those bastards from before? Damn them!"

The black form of the monster tensed, then twisted, cracking the remaining ice open in a single powerful motion. As it shook out a stinking pelt and began to crawl forward almost like a reptile, Takar began to circle toward the monster's tail. The animal shifted to the right, then let out a high pitched yowl as a runic trap flared. Takar felt the hum of increased gravity even from a distance as the grotesque canine was slammed hard against the earth. Streaks of orange-arrows-embedded in the flank. As the power of the trap faded, the projectiles exploded in burst of arcane.

Takar smelled the burning, saw flesh flying. He could well imagine the mess Lehvahk had made out of it, and smelled the charred fur and skin. The wolf snarled and crouched, then whined as Takar shot in turn.

He took savage joy in the result of a second incinerated ear, other burns just missing the eye and instead marring the brow. The animal had moved, causing the shot to go wide-but he had still achieved something, rendering the wolf partly deaf where Scout's attack had failed.

Fearon edged a few steps back. "No idea, but those cowards can't be our concern now. We'll get our answers later-"

The huge canine wheeled, claws squealing, and leaped in Takar's direction. His breath caught-the remaining air left him as the pilot forcibly hit the earth. The paws, both half as big as him, began to try and push down. Takar caught a blurred glimpse of the blackened, reddened mess that was the result of Lehvahk's shot.

Takar hissed, a pathetic sound with what little air he could spare. His mind raced, thinking of survival and questioning why he had not deducted this would happen. His weapon having been knocked away and Rhalgder pinned under him, the kerion clawed at the digits of the paw. The coarse fur refused to break.

_I'm not dying here. Not to a unthinking monster. _

Attempting to hold in his breath, Takar managed to fix his gaze on the flickering lights. Willing his magic to reach the circuits hidden there.

And felt nothing.

_Nothing? How the Seven Hells-_

The paws pushed harder, the wolf barking and swinging slavering jaws. This time something broke for certain, and Takar couldn't hold back a cry of agony. It tore his throat, even as he prayed, over and over, that the sound hadn't been his spine.

Then the weight vanished as green entered his sight. Taker frantically shoved himself up and then back, knowing only he had to regain his gun, and accessed the damage.

Patting at his trench coat, Takar felt the warm hint of blood, then cursed himself for being so careless. It hurt to move, but the pilot did so anyway, relieved it could be so at all. Yet he never took his eyes from what he was seeing. Being caught unawares could mean death.

The creature was struggling now in the cloying grasp of thick vines. It had already clawed many into countless pieces like so many leaves, only to face a bolt of white light. The rush of arcane energy was followed in turn by the burn of nature magic, in golden light and fury. The wrath of the sun and moon, channeled in the way only a druid could manage.

Ivya rushed forward after that, even in motion changing. Takar's breath faltered as a slight thrill of admiration took him, the smoothness of the transition breathtaking. When the change had completed and Ivya collided with the wolf as a bear, the agonized howl dragged the pilot from the watery depths of his reverie. She had latched onto the neck of the monster with her teeth, the shoulders with her bear claws, and was now locked in a primal struggle of power. As Ivya's attacks dug deeper, more red stained the beast.

_Ignore the blood, ignore the lightning, and ignore the pain. _Takar hated how shaky his own thoughts sounded, echoing in conjunction with his equally shaky breathing. His cracked ribs hurt, stabbing over and over. The lightning jarred his ears each time it sounded, a sliver of sound seeking his eardrums. But now the anger burned in him, anger directed at anything that moved, anything that wasn't his friend.

_Friend_?

Takar's lip's curled up. "What a novel idea..."

Xxxviii

Ryfen stood with Draconix in the far right corner, by the shattered glass doors. The fragments crunched under her boots every time the felisar shifted her weight, and her eye kept flickering to the window. Maybe being this close to the open wasn't a wonderful idea.

She gripped her axe even harder, the haft engravings digging comfortingly into her fingers. It was too late now to change the spot of their stand. If other monsters were to come, so be it.

The wolves that had already arrived circled, their eyes red, moving more like vultures than proud hunters. Drool matted the fur on their jaws, and when one tossed their head, Ryfen noted green in the fur. It almost seemed like infection, as though the creature was rife with disease. For all Ryfen knew, it was- and the green reminded her of something else. Of the results of death magic, the dark work of necromancy.

_No. don't think about that time. Those shambling horrors have nothing to do with this, and were banished years ago. _

"Nice. A whole pack of you against two. Any chance you'd play fair, even the odds?"

Predictably, Ryfen received nothing but more growls. She laughed anyway, a empty cry, chilling as the night outside the windows. It was how her mind felt now-placid, icy, calculating. With the fire of determination tamely resting in her abdomen.

"Ha, never mind. I wasn't going to seriously expect that. All these years, and I've yet to see a true fair fight when it comes to blind fools-"

Snarls and a roar showed she had gotten to them. Ryfen smirked. Clouding minds like this was always fun, making sure the artist and warrior could keep the edge. The monsters all tensed and leaped as one, jaws gaping. Ryfen bared her teeth, a rumble of keen joy residing in her throat. The fire raced from her middle and into her veins, her national heritage coming to life.

The beasts were caught. Hook and line, she had them. Fish lured by the perfect bait.

"Charge of the light brigade, it seems." Ryfen slammed her axe handle to the floor, channeling her arcane power, continuing her mocking words. "To bad that tactic..."

Blue flared, becoming the power runes associated with defense and protection. The wolves hit the powerful shields with heavy thuds, bone and gristle cracking in the case of one. The beast fell back, whining, falling onto one side. The remaining pack-mates scratched at the barriers, sparks flying, and snapped their drooling teeth. Ryfen remained unshaken, calm. Her will maintained her barrier-the felisar had already gotten control of this situation.

"That tactic tends to be easily uprooted." Upon finishing her sentence, Ryfen planted one foot forward, axe now close to the ground. With a single muttering of ancient words, the felisar primed her shield to explode.

They did, in brilliant flares of blue, the broken shards of magic flying. Scarlet splashed as the shards cut before vanishing, leaving the animals howling.

More blood joined the former spots as Ryfen struck, moving eagerly into the anticipated moment. She swung, a grim satisfaction thrilling through her as one paw went flying, severed, and another wolf died from a slit neck. The last yowled as the runic axe bit it's shoulder. The lamed wolf fell, flailing, while the one with the injured shoulder stumbled. Ryfen stood ready, this segment of the pack down to one, and stared the monster in the eye.

The orb was the singularity that showed this was no mere, diseased wolf as she had first hoped. Neither did it seem to be the undead abomination Ryfen had theorized. A whole different mind lay behind the glassy barrier, one that swirled with hate, a deep defining evil, and a ultimate goal that Ryfen couldn't distinguish. The small monsters would yield nothing concrete. They were all chaos, and had barely any actual thought process.

She glanced at the alpha beast. That was the one-the one with potential hints to the cause of their current problems. She suspected it wasn't all that much more intelligent, but it was the strongest. Some piece of Shak'ora Delmu's puzzle was locked behind it, but the true question was how.

In the next bolt of lightning that lit the room blue white, she thought for a second that the animal had become transparent, but the flash was gone before Ryfen could spot anything else.

_A corrupted spirit? A ghost?_ Ryfen snorted. _Ghosts. I can believe it at this point. _

A roar came from Draconix, scarlet flames turning white as he vented his fire breath. Two of the animals fell to the fire dragon's elemental magic, while a third lunged from behind the cover of the burning bodies.

Ryfen reacted fast. Spinning, she thrust one hand out. A new shield flashed into being, the attacking monster hitting it hard. Cracks spread from the impact, and Ryfen clenched her fist, encouraging them. With a quick hand motion, the broken arcane shards daggered into the wolf's head and shoulders. It shrieked, a high, piercing sound Ryfen had never heard from a canine before.

"Nice try, but no dice, and no luck." The felisar backed up closer to her dragon. "And obviously no tenacity. You all might as well be corpses."

She couldn't help a involuntary shudder at the reminder. "But even those have more fight. So what are you?"

Ryfen had been gazing about for Edna the entire time-she spotted her friend not far away, and nodded in satisfaction as Edna's arcane constructs battled the monsters. Ryfen began to walk, stepping carefully across the broken glass shards.

Edna fluttered her hands, the oddly delicate motion setting off a wave of small, insect like constructs. They swarmed some of the grotesque wolves, causing them to yelp and writhe as their blood fell. The illusionist slid one foot forward and barked out a second spell, and one of her larger arcane constructs-a bear-seamlessly obeyed the spellcaster's command, raking another animal in the throat with conjured claws.

"You've kept us in suspense long enough." Ryfen paused nearby, her gaze flitting across the embattled canines. "You should show these creatures your last trick."

Edna raised her eyebrows playfully. "You think? Well, this is getting boring. Hey, wolfies!" Edna moved one hand, weaving patterns in the air with the other. The glint that rested in her hand began to gain strength, growing and growing further into a glowing orb."Take a look at the shiny thing. I bet you want it."

The wolves eyes lit up, gleaming with savage opportunity, and they sank down into hunches. Instead of looking afraid, however, the illusionist just laughed. "It's cute how you think you can take me down."

With that, she threw the orb. The focused arcane power exploded in the midst of the animals, causing them to yip and run on haphazard circles. Some clawed each other blindly in a maniac rage, shedding blood and drool.

Ryfen leaped in herself, and struck as the light began to fade. More blood splashed her bare arms as her runic axe gutted one monster. It fell away, and Draconix lunged in, burning the rest in a sea of fire. Ryfen circled, expecting to see more enemies, to see with relief that there were none in the immediate area. She stood, trying to catch her breath.

"What are they doing?"

Ryfen abruptly looked up. She eyed the desperate scene not far away, where the Lycanthropes were making passing blows at the lead wolf. "I'm not sure." She paused, eyes on the fire pit. In a world of advanced technology and magic, any kind of idea could be brewing within the mind of the pilot. "But something tells me it'll bear results."

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Somra was having fun, at least in the first few minutes. She had already massacred one canine, gutting another and then whirling to face a third. The animal tackled her, and she had to twist to avoid claws tearing her throat out.

Brendon, Lehvahk and Scout were no longer near them, the three all having become distracted by the monster's smaller pack mates. They seemed to be managing well enough from what she could gather, Lehvahk going crazy with his traps and explosive arrows. Brendon and Scout seemed to be creating burning wolves by the minute. While happy they were fine, Somra was having much more fun focusing her attention on her own targets, all to get back to the main prize of the alpha.

Somra pierced wolf through the throat, her weapon emerging bloody from the back of the neck.

"Killed you."

Somra flipped back, onto her feet. Rocking back on her heels, she kicked outward, hitting a muzzle. Kneeling, Somra pulled out a dagger and planted it in the neck of another beast. Magic powering her thrust, she tore downward, spilling blood and snapping muscle.

"And now you join the ranks of the fallen." Somra planted one foot on the hand of the animal, standing to her full height. She bared her teeth, daring the remaining animals to come for her. "Come on, that's all these minions have? Where's the real challenge?"

The howls of the lead monster became even more frenzied. Rearing and tossing a bloodstained mane, the beast charged and rammed Fearon with one shoulder.

"Eargh!'' Fearon picked himself up even as he struggled to stand on the bloodslicked floor. ''One minute we can hurt the bloody thing, then we can't. What kind of monster is it?''

Somra evaded a darting snap of the wolf's jaws. ''Wouldn't we all love to know.''

Somra shifted on her feet, guided by her heated blood to evade and strike. Of course, predictably, Somra was met with the unholy resistance of the animal's fur.

_The hells is with the inconsistency of this thing?_

Growling in frustration, Somra glanced around for Takar. She found him with blood on his hands and

side, crouching by the small engine powering the fire pit.

She narrowed her eyes. Takar wasn't moving with ease. In fact, he seemed to be wincing with every movement. Somra could only analyze this in flashes-moving to the rhythm of the wolf's sporadic attacks was ignobly distracting, and at this point she just wanted it to end. Even a challenging fight could old if it dragged on this way.

"What are you doing?'' Somra's shout was hoarse, and the weaponsmaster only then realized how dry her throat felt.

"Coming up with a way to save your asses.'' Takar painfully stood and waved his hands. ''Hey, lure it closer."

"For what? To have a nice cookout with him?" Somra sidestepped with a quick, precise step. The monster of a wolf's bite missed, and it skidded several feet before pivoting. Takar muttered a curse from his position by the firepit, then articulated a muttered spell harshly under his breath. The firepit engine flashed green.

"I want to kill this this monstrosity, not make friends with it! Just _do_ what I'm telling you!"

Somra scowled, the tone grating on her nerves. She hated being given commands, especially in such a impatient way. It would only have been worse if haughtiness had been injected. "Ergh. You are insufferable!"

Fearon's outline briefly blocked the light of the fire as he rammed the monster in the side, giving Somra a opening to move away. She swore, knowing that being distracted had nearly resulted in the loss of her throat.

The distraction soon turned into bloodshed as Fearon's runeblades glowed, and the already blood-coated weapons stabbed deep through the hide, into the skin. The blue green varon grimaced as the wolf bucked, dislodging him violently. Somra felt a thrill of fear as she saw the animal twist in his direction, a fear for him-the kind that almost seemed to tear her heart out.

"Go! Use the opening!" Fearon sputtered the words even as he struggled in midair to land both feet on the ground, the attack having thrown him into a spin. The wolf's teeth caught him on the shoulder.

"Aaagh!"

The midnight blue varon found herself moving immediately as the short, pained scream pierced the air. She could feel her face twisted into a livid snarl, and her blood pumped with a volatile energy. Her magic flared like fire, and the feeling of enhancement magic ran into her corded muscles. She felt the power enter her runespear, the tip glowing red.

"NO!"

The cry wracked her throat, and Somra plunged the runespear into the wolfish monster's unprotected cheek. The weapon tore in, aided by her enhanced strength, all but shredding the skin. The animal yowled loudly, the skin flapping and exposing flashes of white and pink. Blood trailed down in congealed lines.

Somra landed and backed away, spotting Fearon from the corner of her eye. He had managed to stand, holding his bloodied shoulder awkwardly. His side was coated red, and Somra tried to help him keep his balance. The monstrous wolf snarled loudly, face limed a nightmarish red and blue from the fire and lightning outside.

Somra and Fearon had both begun to move back, Somra vaguely noting Fearon seemed to be getting his balance back. With all the unnerving patience of a predator, the monster inched closer. It snapped massive teeth together and growled harshly. Somra winced, hearing the bloodlust literally dripping from every tenor vibration. The blood continued to clump around the beast's mangled cheek, but the animal simply moved inexorably forward.

"I can walk on my own now."

Judging from his clearly strained voice, Somra wasn't entirely sure of that. Regardless, she warily let go of his good shoulder. A swift glance behind her showed that in the course of the slow retreat, they had gotten a mere five feet away from Takar. He gave them a dark smile that typically passed as Takar's version of a compliment.

Somra both hated and liked the slightly twisted humor there.

Takar stiffened, eyes glaring between Somra and Fearon's respective shoulders at the approtching animal. Somra glimpsed his lips move in what seemed to be a countdown.

_One, _

the wolf 's jaw hung open, revealing the full scope of Somra's gouging of it's cheek. The red eyes became barely visible slits.

_Two._

The weaponsmaster thought she heard Takar draw in breath.

_Three._

"Good. Good! And...now!"

Somra reacted instantly, throwing her battered form to the left while Fearon leaped right with a heavy grunt.

"Hey, you! Bastard mongrel! Come and get me!" Takar bellowed loud enough to cause Somra's ears to ring. It was a rare occasion when he chose to fully use his deep voice, and Somra could tell from the sudden stillness around her that the others could tell how much it stood out.

The wolf reacted much like Takar had likely intended. It's eyes became widened, blood red orbs, and it gathered itself into one giant leap.

Takar clumsily rolled away, his teeth bared in a obvious grimace of pain. The pilot slammed one hadn to the ground, sending out his call to the technology belowground. The veins rushed like snakes to the bonfire engine. The wolf landed with a massive crash in the middle of it, causing the horrendous screech of bending metal. Sparks flew everywhere as more metal snapped, and Takar's magic reached the engine.

The small thing vibrated, a green glow leaking from the cracks.

"Eat this! I'm giving you a world of pain!" Takar shouted, even as the room lit up with flame.


End file.
